


Breaking Points

by Black_Rose_117



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, Johnstrade, M/M, Relationships gone wrong, Sex, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Rose_117/pseuds/Black_Rose_117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As John goes out for a night on the town, Sherlock, bored out of his hyperactive mind, decides to tag along. A wager placed between Lestrade and John against Sherlock results in all three in a chaotic calamity. As feelings clash and friends become enemys, not even the famous Sherlock Holmes can sort things out before the situation get out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poker Day

**Author's Note:**

> Songs listened to while writing this part:
> 
> Poker Face (Lady Gaga)
> 
> Know Your Enemy (GreenDay)
> 
> \----------
> 
> disclaimer: not mine never has been I want them to be but they never will :)p

John takes his coat from the rack and slipped it over his shoulders, feeling the cool leather slid over his skin. He was wearing something outside his normal out-wear, and it didn't take Sherlock more than a couple seconds to realize the difference. Being pulled from his deep thoughts, Sherlock stood and glided over to John, moving around him and looking him over. He stopped in front of John and looked him over, hands raising to his chin. 

"Sherlock?" John asked, watching his flat mate stare down at his clothes. 

Sherlock snapped his attention back to John.

"You're different. But why? T-shirt, obviously going no where fancy. But you're wearing your good jacket, meaning you care about what people think of you at this place. Dark glasses even though the clouds are out and such a item isn't needed. Jeans, new, but ripped, obviously bought that way. Been worn once, no, twice. Three times now. Shirt, plain white, meant to give you a... mysterious look, am I correct, of course I am. But why would you want to look mysterious unless you were going somewhere with a tougher crowed? No gun, so obviously not a bar. Cash, one-hundred, no, one-fifty pounds in your pocket. Going gambling are we?" Sherlock said, ending with a smile. 

John stood there and listened to Sherlock, mouth open slightly. He shook his head and snapped out of the trance. "There is no way you knew how much money I had on me just by-"

"Receipt, John," Sherlock said, holding up the small piece of paper. He pocketed it and continued. "I want to come."

"What?" John laughed, raising his eyebrow at Sherlock. "You? Gamble? Why?"

"No, I've never gambled," Sherlock sighed, looking at the door, annoyance crossing his facial features. "But it's boring here, theres no new cases, and I wouldn't mind trying it."

John sighed, letting the smile slip from his face. He shrugged and looked Sherlock over. "Fine, if you want to come along. I'm meeting Greg there, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came."

"Greg? You mean Lestrade?"

"Yes, Sherlock. His name -is- Greg."

Sherlock shrugged and reached over John for his coat. "Let's go."

"Do you have cash? They don't take a card, you know," John said as he was pushed out the door.

"I always have cash. Three-hundred pounds, to be more exact," Sherlock said as he got in the cab and John told the cabbie the directions.

"Three-hundred pounds?!" John asked in a hushed whisper. "Why so much?"

"Why not?" Sherlock shrugged and looked out the window, watching the passing cars.

John sighed and sat back in his seat. He just figured he'll never understand the man and it was best to leave it that way.

\----------

"Poker?! Sherlock is playing -poker-?!" Lestrade asked, spotting John in a crowed and approaching him, seeing him watching Sherlock sitting at the poker table, face expertly straight and unreadable.

His eyes were darting from face to face around the table. He was deducing they in obviously fast speeds, John was mesmerized. 

"Full house," He said, laying down his cards. "You have a two of a kind. You only have one, and you have nothing at all, I'm shocked you didn't fold when it was smart to. You just lost all your money in that final raise, you should have known trying to trick everyone into folding would be a dumb move, think a little!"

The group stood as Sherlock collected his rewards. John raised an eyebrow and looked at Greg, him obviously as shocked as he felt. With Greg on his heels, John moved over to Sherlock.

"You, um, doing well there?" John asked, pointing to Sherlock's stack of chips in multiple colors that were organized in front of him. 

"Yeah, this game is easy. No matter how hard any of them try, they give away what they have with the flicks of their eyes. They tend to linger on their pairs, glance across if they have a full house or higher and just get flat out nervous if they don't have a thing," Sherlock laughed, pulling a beer bottle from under the table and taking a long drink. "Too easy!"

"Sherlock, you're drinking?!" Lestrade asked, eyeing the bottle. "I didn't think you drank!"

"I don't, but this is a special night!" Sherlock beamed, shuffling the cards in his hands. "Alcohol has no effect on me, seeing it's all in the mind."

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. He called over a waitress that was walking by and ordered two more beers for John and himself. Paying the girl as she handed over the drinks, he handed one to John and sat down at the table. "Deal me in, Sherlock," he said, taking a drink from the bottle.

"You sure, Greg?" John asked, watching Sherlock deal out the cards to Lestrade and two other people who sat down. "You know you're going to lose, right?"

"Eh, we'll see," Lestrade winked at John, whose face turned bright red at the gesture. "I used to be quiet good at this game."

"If you beat Sherlock," John said, polishing off his beer in a few swift swallows. "I'll kiss you."

Sherlock glanced at John swiftly at the bet as Greg and John shook hands. They all raised the card and the game began. 

"Raise," Greg said, throwing in a few chips, smirking at Sherlock. He avoided looking at his cards and instead glanced around the table. 

His face was unreadable, straight and serious. The only emotion he let slip was that smirk, then his face was as hard as stone yet again. His eyes were dark and portrayed nothing in them. 

Sherlock watched him closely as one matched and the other raised. 

"Raise," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes trained on Greg's face, who had gone to staring at the man.

"Raise," Lestrade mirrored, throwing a few more chips in.

"Fold," The guy a couple seats down from Lestrade said, standing a leaving, beer in hand.

"Match," The other guys said, throwing in a few chips that matched Lestrade's.

"Raise," Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow, as though challenging Lestrade.

"Raise," Greg mirrored again, returning the raised eyebrow.

"Fold." 

It was only Greg and Sherlock now. 

"Four of a kind," Sherlock smiled, placing his cards down to show Greg, smiling broadly.

Lestrade looked up at John, who was staring at him, drinking another beer, the first two bottles he's already downed in this game alone hanging in his other hand. Lestrade winked up at him again (John blushing yet again and almost spitting out his beer) and lay down his hand. 

"Straight. Flush," He said, pronouncing each word slowly and clearly with a smile. 

Sherlock stared in awe as Greg threw his fists in the air, smiling widely. There were crashes of beer bottles and before Lestrade could even lower his arms, John was in his lap, kissing him deeply and cupping his face in his hands. Greg wrapped his arms around John's waist as the kiss stretched out. He ran his tongue along John's bottom lip and was pleasantly surprised when John opened his mouth to let him in. 

Sherlock watched angrily as Lestrade and John made out, John grinding his hips into Lestrade. He slammed his hands down on the table and stormed out of the casino.


	2. Know Your Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As John goes out for a night on the town, Sherlock, bored out of his hyperactive mind, decides to tag along. A wager placed between Lestrade and John against Sherlock results in all three in a chaotic calamity. As feelings clash and friends become enemys, not even the famous Sherlock Holmes can sort things out before the situation get out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 :) 
> 
> songs:
> 
> Know your enemy - Green Day
> 
> Without You - Micheal Henry and Justin Robinett
> 
> Disclaimer: nope :p

John woke up the next morning... not in his flat. There was an arm, someone holding him to them. He shifted slightly, not feeling any female parts press to his back. Did he meet a girl at the casino? A very -flat- girl? How many beers did he have? Seven? Eight? Too many...

He shook his head slightly and glanced around the room. He didn't recognize it at all. He blinked at the clock and read the little '8:52' in red letters. He looked down on the ground to see his clothes scattered and that's when he realized he was naked. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember what happened the night before. He shifted again and realized his ass was sore and painful to move. Great...

Finally, giving up on his memory game, he turned over in the arm that held him. A grunt greeted him as his partner woke to the movement. 

"G-Greg?" John asked as the DI's eyes met his. 

Lestrade jumped in surprise and fell off the other side of the bed. John scrambled over to the edge of the bed, attempting to keep himself covered. He looked over the edge of the bed and diverted his eyes at once. Lestrade was completely naked laying on the floor, dazed from his awkward awakening.

"Greg... cover up, please..." John said awkwardly, his face heating up painfully. He moved over as Lestrade climbed back into the bed and covered his lower half. 

"What are you doing here?" Lestrade asked, sounding just as embarrassed as John felt. "And why is there blood on my sheets?"

"What happened last night?" John asked, finally turning back to Lestrade now that it was safer to look. He looked between the two of them, than down to the blood stained sheets, realization on his face. "Oh god... Did we really..?"

"What?" Greg asked, looking at John's eyes.

"I think you fucked me..." John said, running his hands over his face. "God... I remember you beat Sherlock at poker... We had a bet didn't we? If you won..."

"You would kiss me..." Lestrade finished at length.

"Right... God... I remember now..." John said lowering his hands. "I was nervous about you possibly winning. I never thought you would, but then I saw it was possible. I downed around eight or nine beers just during the game alone, just to calm the nerves. When you won, I remember jumping into your lap and kissing you. I guess after, we got a little carried away in our drunk state..."

"Sounds right..." Lestrade said running his fingers through his hair. There was a long pause before Greg spoke up again. "Was the kiss bad?"

John met his eyes and saw the slight hurt and much curiosity that lingered in them. Slowly, he shrugged. "I can't really remember..."

"Right..."

Another long, awkward pause, avoiding each other's eyes.

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

Their eyes met again and John held the gaze. He didn't know what else to do, the gaze was so confused and just slightly hurt. He gently leaned forward and pressed his lips to Greg's, giving him a soft, slow kiss. His hand came up to cup Greg's face. 

They broke after a long while and John's face flushed scarlet. 

"That was nice..." Greg said softly, a small smile crossing his face.

"Yeah... it was..."

Pause.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we do it again?"

John looked back to Greg and smiled shyly, nodding. Greg's lips covered his again and soon, he was on his side on the bed with Greg next to him, kissing softly and slowly with neither wanting to take it deeper.

\----------

"Greg?! Really, John?! Greg?!" Sherlock stormed to himself, pacing the flat angrily and yelling at the ceiling. "I'm so much better than him! What does he have that I don't?! Why haven't you made a move on me yet?! I made it painfully obvious I wanted you to!"

Sulking, Sherlock threw himself onto the couch. He pouted angrily for a while before standing again and scooping up his coat. He slammed the door shut behind him and hailed a cab.

\----------

There was a loud knock on the door that broke John and Greg apart. They were fully dressed and sitting on the couch, not watching a movie as it played on the telly. Greg stood and kissed John on the nose before heading over to the door to answer it. 

"Where's John?" Growled a deep, baritone voice. John spun around at his name in such anger. 

His eyes instantly landed on Sherlock, who was standing in the door way, glaring at Lestrade with such fire it was scary. His eyes fixed onto John and he pushed past Lestrade. 

"We're going home," Sherlock hissed, his gaze not wavering as he took John's wrist and yanked him from the couch.

"Wait a minute, Sherlock, what give you the right to come in here and steal me boyfriend away from me?!"  Lestrade shouted as Sherlock started dragging John towards the door. 

Sherlock stopped at the words. His eyes met Greg's and daggers seemed to steam from his eyes at the look. He barred his teeth, pushed past Greg and went out the door, slamming the door behind them to leave Greg trapped in his flat.

"What the hell, Sherlock?!" John shouted, trying to get his hand free from Sherlock's grip.

It was fruitless. Sherlock wrestled him into the waiting cab and told the cabbie to head back to 221B. As soon as they pulled away from the curb, John fighting Sherlock's hold, Sherlock, one arm around John's waist and the other holding John's wrist above his head, took John's mouth with his own and kissed his feverishly. John tensed, but stopped moving and fighting at once. Slowly, he relaxed into the kiss, and even put his free hand to Sherlock's face. 

Sherlock pulled away to look at John, his eyes still burning fire. "You left me for him?!" He growled, keeping John's face very close to his. John could feel the breath of each word brush his face. 

"I woke up and I was with him. He asked me out after we figured out we had feelings for each other," John said, his breath heavy and he was panting slightly, his eyes scanning Sherlock's face longingly. "Damn..." He whispered, his eyes full of want and need and lust all in one. 

"I love you, John Watson," Sherlock growled, the fire in his eyes burning brighter with lust. "You can't be with him."

"B-but... I already said ye-"

The rest of the sentence was long on Sherlock's lips as he pulled him in hungrily. Sherlock was rough and needy with the kiss, not being careful of John's lips at all. As he pulled away, both their lips were kiss-swollen and both were panting hopelessly. 

"I don't give a -damn- what you told him," Sherlock growled, the fire and daggers burning into John's wanting and needing erection. "You're mine. And I don't share, John Watson."

John nodded, lost in those eyes. Lost in the flames. The cabbie pulled up outside their flat and they both got out, Sherlock basically carrying John up the stairs.


	3. Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck. Lots of fuck...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just... songs used was Adam Lambert's whole CD, Trespassing. Freaking HOT! :D

John's phone beeped just as Sherlock finished scattering their clothes over John's bedroom floor and they had fallen back onto John's bed, Sherlock on top and dominating John's body. 

"Leave. It," Sherlock sneered into John's neck before bitting down and sucking on the soft skin roughly. 

John shook his head and pushed Sherlock gently off, marveling in his full, naked body. The curves and rugged edges that could cut steal in half. The eyes that melted stone. Those hips that, when used as perfectly as he used them, could drive you easily mad. That erection that stood straight up and pointed, begging and pleading for attention. Damn...

John picked his phone up and raised it to his ear. "Hello?" His voice cracked as Sherlock shook his hips, his erection bouncing slightly and invitingly. John swallowed hard.

"John? What is he doing to you?" Greg demanded, sounding over and passed pissed off. 

"G-Greg? I-I'm sorry... I can't be with you and... God..." Sherlock had gotten up and had pressed himself to the bed post, stroking himself and quietly moaning John's name. "Fuck..." The word brushed past his lips in barely a whisper.

"You can't be with me? Is this -his- doing?!" Greg barked. 

"I-I... Ohhhhhh... Mhmmmmm..." John couldn't think straight as Sherlock came over and stepped behind him. 

Sherlock's hands trailed over John's body, one hand traveling all the way down and wrapping long, bony fingers around John's throbbing length. 

"John?!" Greg barked loud enough that Sherlock could hear him loud and clear.

Sherlock picked the phone out of John's fingers and whispered hotly into the mic, "He's with me, now, Lestrade. Go fuck yourself."

The line died as Sherlock closed the phone and tossed it across the room. 

"Sh-Sherlock, that was... God..." John moaned as Sherlock's member pressed hard against his leg. 

"Would you rather go running back to him, or would you rather me take care of that little problem of yours?" Sherlock breathed into John's ear, running his thumb over John's tip and pressing slightly. His other hand landed lightly on John's waist and his chin leaned on his shoulder.

John yelped as Sherlock nipped at the skin under his jaw. He felt his tongue flash out over the now-damaged skin and hissed as it left a trail of cool saliva running down his jaw. 

"W-would you help?" John asked, his eyes fluttering closed. 

Sherlock chuckled deeply and laid John down on his bed, climbing over him and pressing their erections together. 

"Of course," Sherlock hummed, running his tongue over John's lips and his hands over John now-hardening nipples. 

He twisted them gently between his fingers and ground his hips into John's, causing him to yelp and hiss and admit all these strangely arousing sounds loudly into the quiet flat that Sherlock fed off of to move closer. 

\----------

Lestrade stared at his phone in his hand as the line went dead, ringing a very annoying bell in his ear until he hung up his end. He threw his phone to the wall as hard as he could, listening to it break into pieces and rain down to the floor. He didn't care. The phone was worthless and never truly broke; the least of his problems.

John had said yes to -him-, not the hyperactive minded git. Had he cared? Did he even want Greg to begin with, or did he just know it would be enough to get under Sherlock's skin? Had John -used- him? 

Lestrade growled and slumped onto his couch, his teeth grinding. He wanted John all to himself. He didn't want Sherlock, the arrogant bastard that got every little thing he wanted by throwing a fit, to have that amazing man. He didn't deserve him. 

After only a few hours of having John, kissing him while sober and actually letting themselves have fun with the whole ordeal, Lestrade didn't want it to stop. He was starting to get these feelings, stronger then the ones he's had for any of his past girlfriends. Even stronger then those he felt for his ex-wife. His head was spinning with moments of John. 

God damn Sherlock fucking Holmes.

\----------

John's phone insisted on continuing it's hissy fit under the pillow on the ground as Sherlock wrapped John's leg over his shoulder. He shot the phone an angry glance out of the corner of his eye before he swooped down and slid his tongue along the head of John's erection. John hissed and moaned, fisting his hands into the sheet. He threw his head back in a silent scream as Sherlock continued this motion over and over again. Noises John didn't even know he could make escaped his lips as he hands felt for something, anything, to hold onto. The sheets tore under his nails and his toes were beginning to curl. 

Sherlock, after licking his way all the way around John's erection, slid his tongue south. John screamed Sherlock's name to the sky as Sherlock's tongue made it's way into John's entrance. He pressed as deep as he could, licking the bundle of nerves that drove John crazy. His eyes spun, his head felt like it exploded, and his body went into a overdrive only Sherlock's tongue could cause. 

John's hips bucked up and his eyes rolled in his head, making the room spin and dance about. Sherlock chuckled as a girly squeal emitted from his mouth. The chuckle did things to John. As it traveled down through the tongue that had penetrated him, John thrusted his hips into Sherlock's face. Sherlock pulled out and smirked up as his desperate flatmate, who was screaming his name. He crawled up and nudged his nose with his own. Without warning, John was filled with Sherlock's erection. He opened his mouth to scream, only to be stopped by Sherlock's own mouth covering and devouring his. 

"John," Sherlock's voice was hot and heavy with lust, sending shivers down John's spine and straight to his already throbbing erection. "I want you as mine..."

John moaned, his head trying to wrap around the words that danced their way into his ears. "I... Am..." He panted, his grip on the sheets tightening. 

"No, no, no," Sherlock whispered, his lips brushing against the bridge of John's ear. "Say you'll stay mine. Say you'll always be mine and no one else's. Say you'll date me."

John nodded furiously as Sherlock gave a hard thrust, pounding into John's bundle of nerves again. "Yours..." He panted, sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyes.

John's hair was plastered to his head. His breathing was shallow and uneven and his body was on fire. 

He screamed, partly Sherlock's name, partly just a scream, as Sherlock thrust one last time deeply into John and released his orgasm. He rode it out in rough, long waves, the cum spilling out of John and onto the bed. As soon as he was done, John soon followed suit and released himself all over his own stomach.  Another tear in the sheets, another moan and scream from John's mouth, and one last deep thrust by Sherlock until it was over. 

Sherlock pulled out and lay on top of John, making it even harder to breath then it already was. He kissed John long and hard and deep, pulling the man close so their whole bodies were touching. Just the kiss, just the way Sherlock used his tongue to pry his lips open, was enough to get him close to becoming dangerously hard again. It was painful. 

John was in love.


	4. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fire breaks out in John and Sherlock's flat, causing everything to burn to the ground; and not just buildings, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song:
> 
> Let it Rock by: ????? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, a bit of a shorter chapter tonight. 
> 
> Comments are <3

The night before was unforgettable. John's ass was painful, walking was almost unthinkable. Two nights in a row of being fucked by two different people was really taking a toll on his southern half. John moaned and rolled over slightly in Sherlock's arms, who was petting his hair and muttering loving words; something John never thought he would hear from the consulting detective. Sherlock has only once said he loved him, never in his wildest dreams would he think he would keep saying it, not like this.

"I love you, you sweet, loving, caring doctor," Sherlock purred, running his fingers through John's hair, which he must admit feels quiet good. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine."

"Sherlock, why are you like this all of a sudden?" John asked, closing his eyes as Sherlock kissed his nose. "You were never this... affectionate before."

"I never thought you wanted me to be," Sherlock whispered, brushing John's nose with his. "I thought you were straight and would reject me as soon as I tried to get close."

"I'm not gay..." John said slowly, thinking and bothering his bottom lip.

"Bi?" 

John nodded, realizing that's all he could be. "Or you're just my exception."

"And Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"Another exception?"

"No, you're bi. But Lestrade is no longer an option. Nor are any woman you see because you're mine," Sherlock purred and nipped John's neck. 

"I know," John smiled as he tilted his head back to let Sherlock play with his neck. "Do you want breakfast? I'm starved."

"Sounds nice, if I can help you cook," Sherlock smiled, kissing John gently and playfully.

"You won't be cooking, will you?" John asked as a smirk crossed Sherlock's face.

"In a way I will be," Sherlock winked and stood, his whole naked body seeming to glow in the morning light. John stared as he stood as well, dressing next to Sherlock. 

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist and drove him to the kitchen, his body seeming to radiate affection as John started some eggs. He turned the stove on and cracked an egg into the pan, standing over it and watching it. Sherlock came up behind him and rested his head on John's shoulder, pressing his body into John's and wrapping his arms around his waist. John swallowed and froze and the touch, unable to keep his mind away from what seemed to be the growing bulge now pressed firmly against his leg. 

"Is this your... helping, Sherlock?" John asked, swallowing as Sherlock licked his neck.

"You're so beautifully marked," Sherlock purred, running a finger over, what John guessed was, a hicky on his neck. "Such adorable marked territory."

John blushed deeply and poked at the egg with a spatula. A hand wrapped around his and pulled the spatula up from the pan. Sherlock took the utensil and set it next to the stove, freeing his hands to start lifting John's shirt from his body. John was turned to face Sherlock as the clothing was pulled over his head. 

"Can I at least turn off the st-"

"Nope," Sherlock smirked and kissed John feverishly, pushing him into the counter next to the stove. He threw John's shirt from his hands and ran his finger tips over the bare skin, John shivering at the touch. 

John, hands shaking and the kiss deepening quickly, brought his hands up to the collar of Sherlock's shirt. He started working on the top button, working it open with shaky fingers as quickly as he could. He worked the buttons down the shirt and tore it from Sherlock's body, letting it fall to the floor. He felt Sherlock's hands grasp his pants button he took a quick breath in through his nose in pleasant surprise. That's when he smelled it... Smoke.

Fire. 

His eyes shot open and his hands pulled Sherlock's from his pants, which were now undone and almost to the point of falling to the ground as well. He pushed Sherlock from him and hushed the man quickly as he began to protest loudly. He looked to the stove where his shirt had landed, fire engulfed the whole half of the kitchen right next to them.

The heat finally registered to John's body, sweat trickling down his forehead and arms. Sherlock was watching the flames, shocked at the sight, sweat coating his arms and face as well. John shook himself from the shock and took Sherlock's hand in his, pulling him from the flames. They were too big to fight off with the extinguisher alone so they had no other choice but to flee the flat, letting the flames take over completely. John pulled Sherlock to the front door and started down the stairs, never letting go of his hand. He pulled Sherlock from the building just as sirens rang in the background, howling towards their flat. 

Mrs. Hudson stood outside and watched the smoke dance in the blue sky. Her eyes landed on them as soon as they had come down, coughing and eyes watering. John pulled Sherlock towards her and sat him down on the curb on the other side of the street. They couldn't have been exposed to smoke too much, they would have been able to tell even in their blurry minded state of arousal, but John still wanted to check over his flatmate seeing he was thrown into a coughing fit. 

John put his palm to Sherlock's bare chest, feeling Sherlock's breathing. It was shaky and he could feel the struggle for air. He took Sherlock's wrist and felt for a pulse. Elevated pulse rate, but that could easily be from the coughing and running they just did. John sat next to Sherlock on the curb as police cars and firetrucks pulled up and got to work. He took Sherlock's free hand, the one not being used to cover his coughs, in his own and held it tight with both hands. He leaned in close to Sherlock to make sure his breathing and heart rate went back to normal. 

"Ugh..." Sherlock growled, his coughing subsiding and his eyes fixing on one spot ahead of them.

"You okay?" John asked, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"Fine... Bloody smoke..." Sherlock growled and looked at John, smiling as his eyes met John's. He gently pecked him on the lips before looking back at the burning building. "Ugh, what is -he- doing here?" He hissed in disgust, lip snaring.

"Who..?" John started before his eyes landed on Lestrade, standing a few feet away from a police car. He was talking to Anderson before his eyes landed on John and Sherlock.

He excused himself from the conversation with Anderson and made his way over to the pair. 

"You okay, John?" Lestrade asked, bending down in front of the man and placing a hand on John's knee. 

"I'm fine, thank you, Greg," John blushed slightly as Lestrade smiled with care into John's eyes.

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously and he wrapped an arm around John's waist. He shifted closer until their hips were touching. Lestrade looked over at Sherlock and his face instantly changed. The care and love that was caressing Lestrade's features quickly changed into something of hate and anger. He stood and stared down his nose at Sherlock.

"And I see you're fine..." Lestrade said, slightly disgusted by the thought.

Sherlock stood against John's protests and looked down at Lestrade. "What are you even doing here, Lestrade?" Sherlock growled, coughing deeply into his sleeve after but not losing the threatening glare he was shooting Lestrade.

"Was called down here for a fire to a flat," Lestrade growled. "I wasn't told it was starting by an annoying git."

Sherlock got into Lestrade face and sneered down at him. "You're just mad because your little boyfriend broke up with you for -me-."

Fists clenched at Lestrade's sides as he got up so close to Sherlock that their noses almost touched. They glared at each other for a few minutes, John watching down on the curb. He gasped as a nice loud pop sounded, indicating Lestrade had just punched Sherlock right in the face. Sherlock fell back, his nose bleeding down his face.

John rushed over to his side and put a hand to Sherlock's back as he sat up and placed a hand to his streaming nose. John glared up at Lestrade angrily and stood to face him.

"Get out," John sneered, pointing over to the police cars, his voice poisonous.

"What?" 

"Go! Get out of here!" John shouted, his teeth grinding and his fist clenching. "I don't want to see you ever again! You don't punch Sherlock!"

Lestrade stood, frozen to the spot, before slowly heading back over to the scene. His heart dropped into his stomach as he heard John fuss over Sherlock behind him. Anderson rushed up to him, but honestly, he didn't listen. He kept moving, ignoring anyone and everyone who tried to talk to him, and folded himself into his car. He pulled from the curb and quickly headed home, breaking a few driving laws on his way. As he entered his flat, he closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. He folded into a ball and started to cry softly, his heart breaking as John's words tore and buried themselves into Lestrade.


	5. Viva La Vida (Fix You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The broken-ness of it all... Can John fix what he's broken? Can Sherlock fix the broken-ness in John? Will anything be right again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used:
> 
> Viva La Vida - Coldplay
> 
> Fix You - Coldplay
> 
> Choke Hold - Adam Lambert
> 
> Naked Love - Adam Lambert

'Everything I do is wrong. 

Every day that thought goes through my mind, past relationships playing through my head. What's wrong with me? Am I sexually unexceptional? Do I do something wrong? Am I too rough or not hard enough? Am I not a good kisser? Do I bite too hard or moan too loud? Why is it almost every relationship I have end after we have sex?' Lestrade thought to himself, chewing at his bottom lip and whipping one last tear from his eye. He leaned his head back on the couch and sighed, the iron taste of blood dancing on the tip of his tongue. He licked his lip clean and sat up, reaching for his cell phone that he had put back together. Not shockingly, it still worked. It had taken worse damage than a wall toss. 

Lestrade, for the millionth time that day, typed out a message to John, read it over a good hundred plus times, than deleted it. John's words still dug into him, clawed at his heart and bleed into his entire being. A new wave of tears came over the DI as John's screaming at him never to talk to him again ran through his head, on an endless replay only to bring pain and suffering. He let the tears roll silently down his face as his heart clenched. 

A melody filled the flat, his phone dancing on the table as it vibrated to the ring. Lestrade picked up his phone and looked at the caller-ID. Work.

"What?" He growled into the phone, placing it to his ear.

"Uh," The other end faltered, than, clearing his throat, they collected themselves. "You were supposed to be in today, sir. Are you alright?" 

Anderson. Lestrade really didn't want to deal with the git at the moment. "Fine. Is that all, Anderson?" He growled, sighing annoyed.

"Um... Sir?" Anderson asked, taken aback by the angry tone in Lestrade's voice. "A-are you coming in? There's a... A huge pile of cases on your desk and-"

"And I trust you'll take care of them for me," Lestrade cut in. "Seeing I'm not there an all."

Anderson didn't answer right away. There was a long pause and Lestrade took it as a sign to hang up, so he did. 

\----------

Sherlock lay on the couch, John sitting with him with Sherlock's head in his lap. He ran his fingers through the curls and smiled down at the detective, who took to looking up and studying John's face. Sherlock's nose had a tissue stuffed up each nostril, for it bleed on and off over the last day and this was one of the times it was running freely.

"He got you pretty good," John frowned as he removed the tissue and watched as more blood came to Sherlock's lip. He took a clean tissue and mopped it up.

"Eh, he is a little stronger than he looks. But it's not that big of a deal," Sherlock shrugged and closed his eyes at John's gentle doctor touch. "Thank you, by the way, for pushing him away fully. If I were to see him after this, he would be sorry he ever came anywhere near you."

"I feel bad about yelling at him..." John said quietly at length as he brushed some more blood off Sherlock's nose. "But he hurt you... I couldn't watch that."

Sherlock sat up slightly and caught John's lips. "Well, were fine. The fire only got through the kitchen, Lestrade only got my nose, and you're still all mine. Everything is fine," Sherlock smiled and pecked John's lips again. 

John smiled as Sherlock lay back down on his lap. "I know, I'm happy we're still fine. I'm just worried about Greg..."

"Why? He doesn't concern us now," Sherlock huffed and pouted out his lower lip.

"Oh, don't do that. You know how cute it is," John chuckled. "I know, but still, he was a friend."

"Was, John, not anymore."

John nodded and ran his hand through Sherlock's curls again. He bothered the inside of his bottom lip in thought. Brushing a strand of hair out of the detective's eyes, he bent over and kissed him on the nose. 

"I love you, John," Sherlock smiled, his eyes lighting up as he met John's. "You're so perfect!"

"I am not," John argued, his eyes softening at the glare of Sherlock's. "If anyone is perfect, it's you." 

"Thanks," Sherlock smiled. 

He closed his eyes against John's touch and sighed happily. His breathing started to slow into a sleeping rhythm, the smile still perched on his lips. 

\----------

A week past with no new cases. Sherlock was getting restless and John was starting to worry. Was Lestrade never going to call them for cases anymore? Just because of a relationship mishap. John slowly slid out of Sherlock's grip and out of bed, being careful not to disturb him. He took his phone and slipped out into the living room. He went into the stairwell, closing the door behind him and dialed Lestrade's number, raising the device to his ear.

"Hello?" The weak voice on the other end asked, sniffling a little.

"Greg?" John asked gently. "Are you alright?"

"What do you think?" Lestrade snapped. "Why are you calling, anyway?" 

"I feel horrible for what I said..." John sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"Just forget it." Anger was bubbling up inside of Greg. A week had past and -now- John felt bad?! -Now- John was sorry?! "You told me never to talk to you again, that's what I plan to do."

"No... Greg, please..." John said slowly. He let a long sigh out before continuing. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said that. I was mad..."

"John... It's not just that," Lestrade said at length. 

"Then what?"

"John... I love you." It was barely a whisper but John heard it loud and clear. His heart jumped to his throat than stopped beating. He started nothing his bottom lip.

"Greg... I-"

"No, John, it's fine. You love that sociopath. You're happy with him. Why would you give a damn about me?" His voice was so low and cracked that John couldn't swallow. His stomach hurt from the pain in Greg's voice.

"I-I love you, too, Greg," John whispered at length. 

John heard a gasp over the line, small, but there. Greg had obviously stepped away from the phone, for a sob sounded perfectly clear, but distant, on the line. 

"Y-you don't... You-you're lying..." Lestrade sobbed as another was pulled from his throat. 

"Greg-" John started, but was interrupted by the door swinging open and slamming against the wall. "S-Sherlock..." 

The phone was pulled from John's hand and was snapped shut. He pulled John back into the flat and pressed him against the door with his whole body. 

"You -love- him?!" He growled, pressing his body farther into John. "You told him you never wanted to see him again and now you -love- him?!" 

"Sherlock... I-I was trying to help..." John stuttered, his eyes starting to water at the anger in Sherlock's eyes.

"How is that helping?!" 

"I was hoping to get him to stop being mad and give you a case... I thought you were bored! I wanted to help..."

"John, stop," Sherlock said deeply, putting John's hands above his head and holding them there, getting his face inches from John's. "We'll find a new way to get cases. We don't need Lestrade. We still have clients."

John just nodded, knowing his voice would break if he tried to use it. In moments, he felt the cold air of the flat hit his skin. He gasped as his boxers were ripped off and Sherlock had his fully clothed body pressed to John. 

"Now, we need to stop crying," Sherlock whispered, his voice becoming gentle. He released one of John's hands into his other, still holding them above his head, and brushed a few tears away. When that became ineffective, he brought his face to John's and gently licked the flowing tears away. 

He kissed John's nose and nuzzled his neck, the tears still flowing from John's eyes. "John, I'm so sorry... Please... Stop crying..." Sherlock whispered, holding John closer. 

The tears continued in a steady stream...


	6. La Danse du Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat between John and Lestrade as arguments break out. Than, when things seem unable to get worse, Lestrade meets a new piece to this puzzle from hell. Will this piece glue things back together?

Sherlock backed away slowly, releasing John's hands from above his head, which instantly dropped to cover his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something than closed it almost at once. What do you say to a man crying this hard? 

"John...?" He started gently, only to be cut off by a wave of John's hand, the other scrubbing furiously at his eyes. 

"D-don't even, Sh-Sherlock!" John said angrily, his voice betraying him. He squared his shoulders and stood up straight, staring at the ground. His hands balled into fists at his sides. "I-I'm done with this all! I'm tired of all-all the fighting! Greg is upset and it's all my fault, a-and because of you, I can't even try to h-help him! I love you, Sherlock. I really do, but Greg is my -friend-!" John was shaking helplessly. Sherlock stepped forward and began to reach for John's shoulder, but John swatted him away. "Just because we're together doesn't mean you can keep me all to yourself, locked away like I'm an object! I have a life outside of you, Sherlock, and like it or not, I'm going to live it!" John grabbed his coat and pulled it over his shoulders. "Maybe my life with you should just stop..."

He threw the door open and slammed it behind him. Sherlock didn't go after him, he was frozen to the spot. He slowly lowered himself to the couch and folded his hands in his lap. Of course he knew where John was going, it was the only place he would go at this time. 

And Sherlock let him.

\----------

John unfolded himself from the cab and climbed the stairs, trying to calm the boiling nerves in his system. He took a steadying breath and raised his hand to knock on the door, when it opened itself.

Lestrade was standing in the doorframe, looking down and messing with his collar. He had a bag over his shoulder and he sniffed, his eyes a obvious red. He froze as he realized John's presence and looked up into his face.

"Greg..?" John said slowly, the man's face in front of him quickly going from surprise to anger in a matter of seconds. 

"What are you doing here?" He growled, starting to push past John, his hand still messing with his collar, now more distractingly and nervous than productive. 

"I came to make sure you're alright, Greg," John explained, following Lestrade close on his heels. "I know I hung up before, I'm sorry, it was Sherlock and-"

"Of course it was Sherlock. It's always Sherlock. It's always -about- Sherlock!" Lestrade snapped angrily, turning to face John. "When will it be about me for once?! I thought we had something. John! I loved you! But of course, that, too, was for Sherlock for you..."

"Greg, you know I've liked Sherlock for a long time. You know how rare it is for him to have feeling? -Emotional- feelings for anyone? I had to take it! I didn't want what I felt to go to waste!"

"Whatever, John. Why don't you just leave me alone? At least for a while," Lestrade said, as he turned and folded into a cab. 

John watched Lestrade go before he started down the sidewalk. He didn't have anywhere more he wanted to go, but he couldn't go back to the flat. Not to Sherlock.

\----------

Lestrade checked in and started up the stairs to his office. He started searching his pockets for the keys to his office, placing a hand on the door knob. He was shocked when the knob dropped half an inch and didn't hitch. It was unlocked?

Slowly, Lestrade opened and pushed the door in, watching the doors movement to make sure it wasn't broken in any way. His eyes shifted from the door to something moving in a chair. 

"Morning, Greg," Mycroft smiled, standing and moving over to the DI.

"Uh... M-Mycroft..?" Lestrade acknowledged, pausing for a moment before starting over to his own chair and depositing his shoulder bag to the floor behind his desk. He sat and faced Mycroft. "Please, do take no offense to this, but why are you here?"

"I'm here due to the fact I heard you had a little dispute with my dear brother," Mycroft replied calmly, folding his hands in his lap, after retaking his seat. "I came to investigate."

"Oh, please, a little late aren't we? That happened days ago..."

"I'm a busy man, Greg," Mycroft replied calmly. 

"So, ask what you need to ask and, again, no offense, but get this over with," Lestrade said, shifting papers on his desk. 

\----------

Mycroft watched Lestrade muse trough the papers, knowing he was only doing it for show. His eyes were a hint of red, so he had been crying. This man was hurt, Mycroft could tell. He leaned forward onto his elbows subconsciously, closer to Lestrade, who caught his gaze. 

"May we should do this over some breakfast?" Mycroft suggested, nodding to the door and sitting up straight again, not taking his eyes off of the DI's. 

"I don't know..." Lestrade said at length, blushing and breaking the eye contact. "I mean, I haven't been in for days after-" He cut off, not wanting to cry in front of the Holmes elder. John was still a painful subject. 

Mycroft sighed, watching the pain cross Lestrade's eyes, but only hinted. "Listen, Greg, you're obviously still hurt. I'm the British government, meaning, technically, I'm your boss. And your bosses boss. And as your boss, and bosses boss, I order you come to breakfast with me, if for nothing more than to relax a little," Mycroft said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. What was happening to him? He felt... Different.

Lestrade frowned at Mycroft for a moment in silence. "But-" 

"No buts," Mycroft cut him off quickly. "You're coming with me to La Danse du Lion. That's not up for discussion."

"La Danse du Lion?!" Lestrade gasped. "But that's, like, the most expensive French dinner in London! I couldn't... You can't..."

"I can, and am. Let's go," Mycroft smiled at Lestrade's gaze. "The guy owes me a few favors. It's on me."

"Still, I can't have you pay that much!" Lestrade protested as Mycroft stood and took his umbrella. 

"Lestrade, I have more money than I know what to do with. Please, allow me to treat you," Mycroft said gently, giving a soft stare into Lestrade's eyes.

"Fine," Lestrade blushed and smiled. "T-thank you..."

"You're welcome. Shall we go?"

"Love to."


	7. Thoughts of a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade found a new friend in Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used:
> 
> None, I used the sound of my US History teacher's voice to write this. His voice is shockingly soothing... :)

Lestrade blushed and shied back as he eyed the outside of the restaurant. It was big and fancy and a shimmering white, brick-red roof shingles rested on the top and the shape gave the illusion of a small palace. 

Lestrade paused as they started to approach the doors, walking up a path surrounded in elegant red rose bushes. 

"This place is..." Lestrade thought for a moment, pondering the possible words that could describe a place like this. "Beautiful."

"I thought you may like it," Mycroft smiled, holding the door open for Lestrade, who went through it with his ears turning a bright red. Mycroft followed and muttered something to the man handling the podium. He bowed his head with a smile and waved them to follow him with an elegant sweep of his hand into the back. 

Lestrade fell into step behind Mycroft and nodded to the waiter as he presented them their table. Mycroft took the farther seat and made eye contact as Lestrade sat in the vacate chair on the other side. A waiter in a black polo shirt, a white half-appron, and a golden lion on it's hind legs embroidered on his breast approached their table and bowed his head.

"What can I get for the happy couple this evening?"

"Oh..." Lestrade said, his face brightening again. "I'm not his d-"

"We'll have your special of the day," Mycroft smiled up at the waiter, handing him his menu. "That alright with you, dear?"

Lestrade could only nod. He stared at Mycroft while the waiter picked up his menu. 

"Two, right sirs? Or are we planning on sharing this morning?" The waiter asked, smiling between them. 

"No, two shall be perfect!" Mycroft smiled back up at him as he turned and left the table. Then, he turned back to Lestrade. 

"'Happy couple? This isn't a... I'm not your..." Lestrade stuttered, struggling to find the words.

"Greg, please, relax," Mycroft said, reaching across and patting the back of Lestrade's hand. "A little miscommunication is all. It means nothing."

Lestrade sighed as Mycroft retreated his hand back to his side. "You're right..." He chuckled dryly "Well, now I know how John used to feel..." Lestrade bothered his lip at the name. Why was it so hard to let him go?

"You need to stop thinking about him, Greg," Mycroft whispered soothingly. "You're doing nothin but hurting yourself."

"I know. But it's just... It hurts... A lot..."

"I know," Mycroft sighed deeply. "Is there anyway I can help?"

"I think you're already doing that," Lestrade smiled slightly. "Thanks again... I know you didn't have to do this... Check up on me and all..."

"No, I didn't. But now that I am, I'm enjoying myself and think I should check up on you more often," Mycroft smiled, sending a blush up Lestrade's neck. 

"Well... Feel free to drop by at any time... But if we do go out like this again, I'm paying," Lestrade said, the blush over taking his cheeks.

"Sounds wonderful!" Mycroft smiled. 

Their meals appeared and the silenced lingered between them as they began to eat. Mycroft shot quick glances up to Lestrade as he ate, Lestrade too occupied with his meal to notice. Their meals slowly came to an end and Mycroft took his napkin from his lap, brushing his mouth and sighing. His eyes met Lestrade's and he couldn't help a smile. 

"What?" Lestrade asked. 

"Huh?"

"Your smiling and staring. Why?"

Mycroft shrugged and dropped the gaze, looking over the crowed and calling over a waiter for the check.

"Come on, Mycroft," Lestrade poked. "Tell me."

The bill was set down on the table and Mycroft busied himself with filling it out. He placed a golden card in the slot and slid it to the edge of the table. 

"I'll tell you what," Mycroft mused, leaning forward on the table. "You agree to go to dinner with me next week, and I'll tell you. Deal?"

"Deal, but I pay," Lestrade smiled. His stomach was turning and he felt he couldn't stop smiling. What was happening to him?

The waiter took the bill and went off to swipe the card. Mycroft held Lestrade's gaze as they waited for the return of the card, neither feeling the need to break the silence. After Mycroft received his card, he stood and waited for Lestrade to do the same.

"Am I correct in suspecting that you wish for me to take you back to work?" Mycroft asked, straightening his suit jacket and heading towards the restaurant door. 

"It would be appreciated, yes," Lestrade nodded, following Mycroft to his car, being shocked when Mycroft held the door open for him. Lestrade slid in and Mycroft slid in after him, telling the driver the address, then leaning back in the seat to look at Lestrade. 

"So, what time should I pick you up next week?" Mycroft asked as the driver started out of the parking lot. 

Lestrade turned his attention to him, pulling his gaze away from the window. He shrugged, saying, "I don't know. What time would be good for you?"

"Can we say... Wednesday, around eight-ish?" 

"Wednesday, around eight-ish," Lestrade smiled at the joke. He nodded when Mycroft looked at him a little confused. 

"Isn't that what I said?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at Lestrade, who was laughing slightly.

"Yes, it was just a joke. You know, you said 'can we say...' so I said it and... nevermind..." He laughed, looking down and smiling at his hands in his lap. He diverted his gaze to out the window, watching the people roll by outside.

Mycroft chuckled at the silliness of the joke and looked out his own window. He watched as Lestrade's office building pulled up around the corner and waited for it to come to a stop. He got out as the pulled up to the building and went around to where Lestrade was already standing, hands in his back pockets. 

"Well... Thanks again, Mycroft," Lestrade smiled, blushing only slightly.

"No problem, but if you don't mind, I'd like to walk you up to your office," Mycroft said, moving to hold the front door open for him. 

"O-oh, of course I don't mind." Lestrade went through the door and pressed the elevator button as Mycroft came after him. "Did we forget to talk about something?"

"No, just thought you would like the company," Mycroft smiled, stepping into the elevator with Lestrade and pressing the seventh floor button, watching the doors close behind them.


	8. Only Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade and Mycroft spark

Lestrade smiled and walked Mycroft to his office door, having just finished their conversation a few hours after their breakfast. The paused at the doorway before opening it, Mycroft turning to look at Lestrade with a smile. 

"I had fun this morning," Mycroft said, holding his hand out to Lestrade, who took it. "Till next Wednesday."

"Till next Wednesday," Lestrade repeated, his smile growing as their hands stopped moving and they just stood there with them connected, their eye's making contact. Lestrade couldn't look away from those eyes, so deep and mysterious. So powerful and self-confident. His smile faded as he drowned in the stare Mycroft was giving him.  

"Greg?" Mycroft asked, his voice deepening and his eyes darkening, Lestrade moving an inch closer.

"Yes?" Was all Lestrade could manage to get out, the need to just touch Mycroft becoming more and more overpowering. 

"Till next Wednesday," Mycroft whispered before bending over slightly to caress Lestrade's cheek with a light kiss. 

Lestrade blushed deeply as Mycroft pulled back, smiled, and shut the door behind him on his way out. He stared at the door for a moment, as though waiting for it to open again, but it never did. He raised a hand up to the place where Mycroft's lips had left an ever burning mark, and ran a few light finger tips over the skin. He moved back and sank into his chair, his heart racing and his cheek burning. Mycroft Holmes had just kissed him...

...And he liked it.

\----------

Mycroft went down to his car out front in a semi-haze. He sank into the seat and felt the car pull away from the curb, his heart pounding the inside of his chest and his thoughts swimming. He had just kissed DI Lestrade, _Greg_ Lestrade. The man who was just getting over a wife leaving him _and_ John. A man who was heart broken and he was only supposed to be checking up on. 

A man he has loved from a distance since they first met. 

Lestrade was the only man who was able to make Mycroft feel _human_. Like he wasn't someone special or high in the government. Like he wasn't some high-in-power bastard, but just some other guy on the streets. 

And somehow, that feeling made him happy. 

He has watched over Lestrade ever since Sherlock had met him and started working with the DI, and kept an even closer eye on him as his feelings became undeniable for the man. He had never made a move to show how he really felt, besides hinting at it once in a while with small gifts and gestures. Otherwise, he kept everything to a friendly level around the DI, and only loved him from a distance.

How had Lestrade reacted to the kiss anyway? He had moved so quickly to leave he hadn't even checked if the DI liked it.

Mycroft quickly fingered his phone out of his pocket and typed out a quick message to Lestrade.

I am sorry if what I did was out of line. I do hope you forgive me. -MH

No, Mycroft, don't worry about it. But, if you don't mind me asking, why did you? -GL

Am I correct in assuming you won't accept a small lie? -MH

That is preferable, yes. -GL

Well then, the truth is, I've liked you for a while. Something came over me, seeing you so sad and broken and angry. I apologize, Greg. -MH

Mycroft, I never said I hated it. I liked it, actually. -GL

Thank you, Greg. So, till next Wednesday? -MH

Till next Wednesday. -GL

Mycroft set his phone in his lap and turned to look out the window. He had liked it. He had liked the kiss. Would he, maybe, want me to do it again?  

\----------

Wednesday evening had rolled around dreadfully slow, and Mycroft was getting inpatient. He sat in the back of his car, dressed nicely in a fresh suit jacket and shirt, watching Greg's work roll quickly towards him. His heart rate picked up as they pulled up to the front and he got out, leaving his umbrella in the back seat. He went up to Greg's office and knocked on the wood door.

"Come in," came a muffled, tired sounding voice, and Mycroft turned the handle, pushing the door open. 

"Evening Greg," Mycroft smiled as he shut the door behind him. 

Lestrade looked up to him and smiled, then turned back to his computer, where he was typing furiously. 

"Hello, Mycroft. If you don't mind, I just need to finish up this report, then we can go."

Mycroft nodded and sat down across from Lestrade. He let his eyes scan the room as he listened to Lestrade's frantic fingers dance across the keyboard. He sighed as he waited, drumming his fingers against his knee. His eyes landed on Lestrade, his face soft, but concentrated, his eyes glued to the screen and his tongue absentmindedly wetting his bottom lip slowly, deep in thought. 

Mycroft watched as he dragged his tongue across and then back over, bothering it with his teeth in between each sweep. He couldn't pulled his eyes away when they opened slightly in a silent sigh and he wet the top one. What would happen if he was to just glide around the desk and kiss him? That's all he wanted. 

"Mycroft?" 

He blinked but couldn't pull his eyes away from his lips. The way they caressed his name, the way they formed each syllable. Mycroft shuttered to himself, his face burning in a blush as he felt himself starting to get hard. He had to stop this, get a hold of himself. What if he scared Lestrade away? He was lucky before, he had risked a lot kissing him. If he didn't like it he could have easily have pushed Mycroft away, never allowing him to see the DI again.

"Mycroft?" Lestrade asked again, and this time, Mycroft pulled his eyes away to look up at Lestrade's.

"Sorry?"

"Why were you staring at me like that? At my lips?" Lestrade asked, blushing lightly and shifting uncomfortably. 

Mycroft shrugged, not wanting to scare the DI off.   _Because I love you_ just seems like a bit too much to say after only one sort-of-date. "I am sorry, Greg. I meant nothing by it. Simply zoned out, if you will," Mycroft said, forcing a smile.

Lestrade stared Mycroft down for a moment before turning back to his computer. "I'm done, when you're ready," Lestrade said, shutting his computer down and standing, moving over to take his coat. "I must apologize, though. Dinner will be no where near as fancy as breakfast last week. I can only afford so much..." Lestrade said, turning to Mycroft, who was still sitting. "I hope you don't mind."

Mycroft stood and moved over to Lestrade, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I don't mind," he smiled, chuckling. "I'll be with you."

He hit himself mentally. _I'll be with you_?! Could he get any cheesier?! 

He closed his eyes and sighed silently, his hand falling to his side. He felt warm lips press against his cheek and opened them quickly as they retreated, looking down at Lestrade. 

"For last week," he blushed, than was out the door.


	9. Green Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Mystrade :)

Mycroft followed Lestrade out of the office building slowly, his hand once in a while going up to brush his cheek with his finger tips. He led Lestrade over to his car, which had been waiting outside for them, and held the door open for him to climb in. Lestrade smiled as he got in, having Mycroft follow him. 

"Where to, Mr. Lestrade?" The driver asked, looking at them from the mirror. 

Lestrade told him the address and blushed at the look Mycroft gave him. 

"Verde Dias? I've passed that place a few times. Is it good?" Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling. 

"Well, it's... okay. Not as good as where we went last week, but it's a cheep, fancier restaurant. It has some good Mexican dishes and... their desserts are amazing..." Lestrade said, chewing his bottom lip. "I hope you like it, anyway."

"I am sure I will, Greg, don't worry so much. You're going to hurt yourself if you keep working your lip like that," Mycroft said, reaching over and putting his thumb to Lestrade lip, stopping him from chewing on it as well as looking it over to make sure he hadn't chewed through it. 

Lestrade watched Mycroft's eyes as he checked his lip. His face was so close to his that if he leaned over about half a foot, their lips would be locked. Mycroft's thumb stopped it's sweep of Lestrade's bottom lip, and his eyes raised to meet his. 

"Mycroft?" Lestrade asked gently as Mycroft's eyes glazed over. His heart was racing, threatening to burst from his chest.

"Greg," Mycroft whispered back, his voice deep with something like want. 

Both of them started to slowly lean forward, their eyes locked and glazed over. They were inches away, when the car stopped and the driver announced, "Here."

Mycroft sighed and dropped the gaze. What was he doing, trying to kiss Greg Lestrade? They haven't even gone on their second "date" yet, if that's what it could be called. Mycroft's heart dropped, what if this wasn't a date? What if he was just tricking his mind into thinking it was one, making it seem like what he wanted was real? Maybe this was just two friends going out for dinner, maybe Lestrade didn't want him to kiss him. 

"You alright, Mycroft?" Lestrade asked, his eyes still glazed over. Maybe he was desperate after what John had done to him. Maybe this was just a lie to get over the heartache, fill the emptiness.

 "Fine," Mycroft sighed, his heart only dropping farther. "Come on, let's go, shall we?"

Mycroft turned to get out of the car. 

"Wait," Lestrade said, placing a light hand on Mycroft's, who paused and turned back to Lestrade. 

Lestrade started leaning in again, his eyes locked on Mycroft's. Mycroft was frozen as Lestrade got closer until he was inches away again, where Mycroft finally shook himself from the trace and pulled back, saying, "Please, Greg, don't..."

"Why not?" The glaze in his eyes started to leave, leaving behind a look of hurt. "I want to, and I can see you want to. Why not?"

"Because, you are still getting over John, and I don't want this to be a mistake," Mycroft said, avoiding Lestrade's eyes. "I want to, but I don't want it to be a mistake, and have you regret it."

"I won't-" Lestrade started, only being cut off by Mycroft. 

"I don't want to till you're one-hundred percent sure."

"Mycroft-"

"Greg, please," Mycroft leaned over and pecked Lestrade on the cheek. "Let that just be it for now."

Lestrade frowned when Mycroft retreated and avoided his eye contact as he nodded. "Okay."

"Now come on, let's go have a good time, relax, and have a nice meal," Mycroft said, taking Lestrade's hand as they got out of the car. 

Lestrade climbed out and leaned up, pecking Mycroft on the cheek back. "Sounds nice." 

Mycroft lead them through the doors and let Lestrade go up to confirm their reservations. They were led to their table by a young woman in a bright green dress and Mycroft only let go of Lestrade's hand to pull his chair out for him. Lestrade sat down and smiled as Mycroft sat down across from him. 

"Pick whatever you want, dessert included," Lestrade smiled, glancing over his own menu. "But no drinks, I have a surprise for you on that."

"Oh, Greg, I shouldn't with dessert..." Mycroft muttered, his face heating as he looked down.

"Why not? I insist," Lestrade frowned. "Is there something wrong?"

"I just... shouldn't. That would break my- my diet and all..." Mycroft muttered, busying himself with the menu's edge. "I do that too often as it is... I really need to get serious about it..."

"Diet? You do _not_ need a diet, Mycroft," Lestrade said, leaning forward on the table to be closer to Mycroft. "You look fine."

"Greg, look at me! I need a diet. I need to be serious about it if I'm going to lose some of this hideous _fat_ " Mycroft said in disgust, looking down at his stomach. 

"I don't see any fat," Lestrade said gently, reaching a hand across to put on top of Mycroft's. "You look... beautiful."

"Greg-"

"I mean it. You look beautiful."

Mycroft smiled as a blush crept over his cheeks. Only Lestrade could do this to him, make him blush and feel these kind of emotions. "Thank you, Greg. You look beautiful too."

Lestrade smiled and squeezed Mycroft's hand gently before letting go. He turned his head to see a waitress coming over to them in a light blue, knee-length dress, carrying a pitcher of what looked like milk, two glasses, and a bottle of wine on a tray. She set it down on the table and smiled to the two of them, bowing away and going back without a word. 

Lestrade took the pitcher and poured each of them a glass as Mycroft noticed the milk-like liquid was a little chuncky. 

"Old milk?" He asked as Lestrade gave him one of the glasses, laughing at the comment.

"No, no! It's a special Mexican drink, though the name escapes me. It's a rice milk, very sweet. Try some, you should like it," he beamed, taking a generous sip of his own. 

Mycroft picked it up and smelled it questionably, before taking it to his lips and taking a small sip. He swished it around in his mouth a little before swallowing, pleasantly surprise. "That's really sweet," he commented, taking another sip.

"So you like it then?" Lestrade smiled, watching Mycroft's eyes as they closed with the next long, slow sip. 

"Very much, yes," Mycroft smiled, setting the glass down and wiping his mouth with his napkin. "This place is very nice, Greg. Thank you for bringing me."

"My pleasure, I just hope the food is up to your standards," Lestrade said, sipping his drink again and pouring each of them a glass of the blood red wine. 

"I'm sure it will be. Don't worry so much."

Lestrade smiled and handed him a glass of the wine as the waitress came back to their table. "May I take your orders?" She asked with a grin at them both.

"I'm ready, are you?" Lestrade asked Mycroft, who nodded. "Good, I'll have the sweet 'n sour chicken on rice, with a side of steamed green beans."

"Sounds good, and for you sir?" She asked as she scribbled down the order and turned to Mycroft.

"Could I get the bean burrito and rice with a side of steamed green beans as well?" Mycroft smiled up at her. 

"Of course, sir, your food sound be out in about thirty minutes. Would you guys like a refill on your rice milk?" She asked, indicating the already half empty pitcher. 

"Yes, please," Lestrade beamed, and she was off. 

"Thank you again, Greg. This is a nice place, and I like spending time with you. Cheers!" Mycroft said as he held up with glass and touched it to Lestrade's. 

"After dinner, would you like to come back to my place and maybe watch a movie?" Lestrade asked, taking a sip of his wine. 

"I would love to," Mycroft beamed, leaning on the table to get closer to Lestrade.

Lestrade smiled as their meals were placed in front of them a while later and Mycroft ate his meal, seeming to enjoy it. They ate in silence, only making some small talk once in a while. Lestrade couldn't get over just how adorable Mycroft really was.


	10. Fake Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Lestrade actually like Mycroft? Or is it all just to get over John?

Lestrade unlocked his flat door and led Mycroft into the living room. He hung up his coat on the coat rack that sat near the entrance, and held out his hand to take Mycroft's, who handed his jacket over with a smile. 

"This is a nice place, Greg," Mycroft commented, letting his eyes scan the room. "Very comfortable."

"It really is. It's small, but it's home," Lestrade said, nodding and looking around as well. "It still needs work though, seeing my ex-wife took all of her stuff with her, so it's a little empty looking."

"It's not empty looking," Mycroft protested with a smile laugh. "It doesn't look cluttered. It looks rather neat, actually."

"You sound shocked," Lestrade laughed, leading Mycroft off into the family room, where the telly was mounted against the wall and a couch faced it, a small coffee table sitting in front of it with a vase of fake plants which sat in the middle. 

"Not at all, you seem like a very neat and clean guy," Mycroft smiled as he followed Lestrade to the couch, sitting down next to him. "Which is a good thing, in case you take that wrong."

"Not at all, thank you."

"Welcome."

Lestrade reached for the remote and turned to Mycroft. "What do you want to watch? Anything you've been wanting to see?"

Mycroft frowned slightly. "I don't watch much telly, so I wouldn't know."

"Well, we can flip through the movies on channel one and pick one out, if you want," Lestrade said, loading up the telly and going to the Movies on Demand channel. "Tell me if you see something that looks good."

"Was there something you wanted to see, though?" Mycroft asked, reading down the list as Lestrade went. 

"Mycroft, I live alone and rarely go out outside of work. If there was a movie I wanted to see, I've seen it already," Lestrade said, frowning in concentration as he worked the buttons. 

"Oh," Mycroft said, bothering his bottom lip. He sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Lestrade flip through the lists, his mind racing. After a while of thinking, and finally deciding he could risk it, he scooted closer slightly and wrapped his arm around Lestrade's waist. 

Lestrade froze, Mycroft's hand settling on his hip. His body shuttered to it's self and heated, all of the heat rushing straight down to his crotch and up to this cheeks, which were burning. His heart rate sped up and breathing became slightly more of a chore. 

"Greg?" Mycroft asked as he felt Lestrade's body tense up. He started to remove his arm, saying, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to- I mean..."

Lestrade's body protested at the loss of contact and he scooted closer, making sure to have his hip brush against Mycroft's. "Mycroft, why do you do that to me?"

"What?" Mycroft asked, his face heating as Lestrade got closer. 

"Tease me... Make my body burn for your touch. Have you no mercy?" Lestrade said, smiling a little as he took Mycroft's hand and twined their fingers together. "Tell me not to kiss you, then wrap your arm around me."

"Lestrade, please... I want to kiss you, just not until you're sure you're not just feeling what you're feeling because you lost John," Mycroft said, his gaze meeting Lestrade's and seeing the heat that was burning there. "I don't want to be a replacement who you use to get over someone else. I don't want to be lead into a false hope and be crushed."

"Mycroft, I have feelings for you-"

"But, Greg, do you know what feelings they are?" Mycroft cut in, squeezing Lestrade's hand tighter. "If they are only friendly or more?"

"They must be more. I want you so badly..." Lestrade said, his eyes sweeping Mycroft in full. 

"Greg, stop and think for a minute..." Mycroft said, moving away slightly from Lestrade. 

"Why, Mycroft? Why don't you want me? Why can't I just kiss you to see if these feelings are real?" Lestrade said, his features turning more from want to hurt. 

"Greg, I want you more than anything. But if your feelings aren't real, I don't want to be... hurt again. I've- I've lost too many people in relationships that I thought loved me. If you're just another one of them, someone who only _thinks_ they love me but really don't, I don't want to kiss you and start to let these feelings I have for you take me over. It would only kill me if you don't feel that same way I feel about you and I'm putting everything on the table. I don't want to be hurt again," Mycroft said, removing his hand from Lestrade's and standing, avoiding Lestrade's eyes. "I-I'm sorry, Greg. I need to go..."

With that, Mycroft took his coat and let the flat, leaving Lestrade sitting on the couch, his mind racing and his heart pounding. He wanted to kiss Mycroft so badly, these feelings couldn't be fake.

Could they?


	11. Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Lestrade wonder if they are too late, and if they had ruined their only chance.

Lestrade sat down in his office chair a week later, sighing heavily as all the weight he had just carried up the stairs to his third floor office was relieved. It has been a week since he last saw Mycroft, since he last spoke to him. Had he scared him off?

Dropping his face into his hands with a depressed groan, Lestrade could only focus on Mycroft; the way he had looked at him so close to kissing him, the way his hands felt in his, the way his voice sounded like angels when he was talking to him. Why had Mycroft thought these feelings were fake?!

Each time Lestrade went to text Mycroft, he had chickened out, thoughts of Mycroft being mad at the DI flashing through his head. He didn't want to hear Mycroft mad at him, what would he say if he was? So the DI went through his days in almost a haze; going to work, filling out paperwork, sending Anderson out on pointlessly easy cases that still seemed to take him too many hours to figure out, than going home, watching an hour or two of crap telly, going to bed only to wake up and repeat. Work, home, repeat. Work, home, repeat. Mindless. Simple.

 _Boring_.

He needed Mycroft in his life to fill those lonely periods of time. Even with his ex-wife, those hours had been there, lonely and empty. Numbing. John had shown him a good time, keeping him up late after they had gotten drunk off their asses, kissing him gently and slowly with such passion, but Mycroft was different. He didn't need to kiss the man to have fun and just enjoy being there with him. His body burned for contact after even the slightest brush of skin on skin, just the look in his shining eyes made him hungry. Hungry for Mycroft.

Quickly, he fingered his phone out of his pocket, he had to do this before he chickened out.

Hey, did I upset you last week? -GL

He quickly pressed send and sat back in his chair, his heart beating just a little faster. He stared as his phone for the longest time, hoping it would ring, but the screen never lit up. After around ten minutes or so, he set the phone on his desk and turned to his computer, deciding to pass the time by filling out a report. He typed furiously, unable to keep from glancing at his phone every sentence, hoping it would light up and show a text from Mycroft. 

Anything from Mycroft.

\----------

Mycroft picked up his phone as it started to ring, his pencil in the middle of jotting down a sentence. A rush of heat flared up in him as he saw the name printed across the screen. Greg Lestrade. Wasn't Lestrade mad at him? 

With a sigh, he opened the message and read it over. 

Hey, did I upset you last week? -GL

Had he? He did make him a little nervous, but after long hours of late night thoughts following his arrival home, he figured out those nerves were just having Lestrade so close to him after liking him for so long. Mycroft sat back in his chair, setting his phone down and watching as the screen slowly faded to a gray, then completely to black. 

How should he answer? Would Lestrade take it the wrong way if he told him he was just nervous? How were you supposed to answer in this situation? 

Mycroft leaned back in his chair farther and sighed deeply. He thought Lestrade didn't even want to talk to him anymore, and so, as a Holmes normally does, he started to bury his feelings for the DI to the point where they were nothing but a meaningless numbing. After a long while, he picked his phone up and started typing.

No, Greg. I'm sorry, I was nervous because I don't want to lose you. -MH

\----------

Lestrade finished his last report, pressing submit and leaning back heavily into his chair with a sigh. He had given up on Mycroft answering him, taking it all as a hint of he was mad at him, and that he wanted nothing to do with him.  

"First John, now you," Lestrade muttered to his phone, staring at the text he had sent Mycroft, the text painting the screen. "What am I doing wrong?" 

He shut his phone and threw it into his top drawer, slamming it shut and deciding to go get some coffee to clear his mind. He shut and locked his door behind him, figuring, while he was out, he might as well go to lunch early. He bloody well deserved something nice.

\----------

Mycroft watched his screen for a long time before giving up and turning back to the stack of paperwork he had on his desk. Picking up a pen and taping it against the table, he started to read the words on the first page, but nothing made sense. His mind was swimming with thoughts of the DI, and wondering if he had waited too long to answer him. 

Dropping his pen in defeat, Mycroft leaned back and put his neatly polished shoes on top of his hard oak wood desk. Images of Greg flashed through his mind; the way he blushed so beautifully, the way he smiled, the way his eye lit up when he was excited. Very bloody feature about that man was beautiful and amazing and just perfect. What if he lost his only chance a week ago? What if Greg had moved on to somebody else, found a woman and was going on another date with her as he sat there, pondering over lost chances? Could he handle that? Would he handle that? 

Mycroft shifted in his seat as that thought settled itself on his shoulders. What if he had lost the only person he had ever met who was able to make him feel like he could actually love?


	12. Sun Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We bring in a bit of a case. I thought this piece was begining to lose people... maybe this will help :)

Lestrade sat alone and poked at the food on his plate, suddenly not very hungry. He was sitting at a table set for two and it seemed way to large. The emptiness of the seat across from him made him think of Mycroft, and it all felt cold. He hadn't been out anywhere besides work and the store since he last sat down with Mycroft for a meal, laughing and enjoying themselves. Lestrade's heart clenched and he felt like he was going to be sick. Had he ruined the only chance he had with Mycroft? 

Setting his fork down with a loud sigh, Lestrade leaned his cheek on his hand and watched out the window by his table, watching all the people who walked through the park across the street. Happy couples holding hands, sharing a kiss under the moonlight, walking along the pathway with the moon as their only guide. Was he really this alone? 

He turned back to his meal and picked up his fork, sticking a piece of steak into his mouth absentmindedly, more for something to do then to actually eat it because he was hungry. He chewed it slowly as he looked around the restaurant. Couples. Dates, partners, interests; everywhere he looked he couldn't seem to get away from the happy glow of a couple. 

In defeat, he set down his fork, placed his napkin from his lap to the table, stood up, went up to pay the bill, and left. He couldn't even have a nice time out without Mycroft, what was he supposed to do now with his life? 

\----------

Lestrade pulled his phone out of the drawer as he sat down in his office, planning on texting Mycroft again. He froze, as his screen showed one new message.

No, Greg. I'm sorry, I was nervous because I don't want to lose you. -MH

He thought for a moment, then typed quickly.

I don't want to lose you either. Just went out to lunch, I had to leave because I got so upset that I thought I ruined things with you. Too many couples around. Can we go out to dinner tonight? -GL

He waited at least five minutes before his phone rang again.

Seven 'o clock, I'll pick you up, my treat. -MH

Lestrade smiled widely and pocketed the phone after sending his okay. Mycroft isn't mad and they were going on another date tonight. Maybe things would be alright. 

\----------

A light knock sounded from the wooden door and Lestrade looked up from his computer. He smiled as Mycroft entered, and stood almost at once, bumping his chair back to ram the bookshelf behind him. Mycroft chuckled as Lestrade blushed, picking up the fallen books from the floor.

"Someone's happy to see me," Mycroft chuckled, going around to help Lestrade with the books. He slid a hand across the desk as he doubled over and picked up a few papers, stacking them on top of a light blue bond book and placing them on the desk. 

"A little," Lestrade smiled, the blush slowly fading to a light pink that highlighted his cheeks. His eyes met Mycroft's and he froze, remembering the depth of his gaze from the last time and how it had captivated him, almost ruining any chances at all that he had with this man. He had to shake this, who knows what would happen if the same thing from last time happened again? What if Lestrade tried to kiss Mycroft again and he only pushed him away? What if he ruined it for good?

"Greg?" Mycroft asked gently, seeing Lestrade's eyes glaze over. Those beautiful, brownish gray eyes. 

Lestrade shook his head and glanced down to his hands, where a pile of books still sat. "Sorry," Lestrade said slowly, turning his back to replace the books and papers. "I really need to work on... not doing... that."

He took the books from the desk and moved to put them back, when a hand on his own stopped him. Lestrade froze, Mycroft's hand tightening on his. 

"I never said it was bad," Mycroft whispered, leaning over and brushing his lips on Lestrade's cheek. "We can work things out, Greg. Taking it slow is smart for now, but I promise you, if what you think you feel is real, once we are together, I'm never letting you go."

Lestrade set the books down and pulled Mycroft into his arms, hugging him tightly and just _breathing_. Breathing in his scent, the way his hair had the distant smell of soap and fire smoke, the way his clothes just smelled of _clean_. He gripped tighter and rocked up to kiss the corner of Mycroft's mouth. They stood there for a long time, just holding each other and taking deep, relaxing breaths. 

Mycroft let go of Lestrade and placed the remaining books on the self. He held out his arm to the DI, "Shall we?"

Lestrade took it with a smile and a swift nod. 

\----------

The sun was setting as Lestrade and Mycroft exited the restaurant, pausing outside on the sidewalk. Lestrade reached up and brushed a crumb off of the corner of Mycroft's mouth, smiling fondly at him.

"Thank you for dinner," Lestrade whispered, running his thumb over the spot a few times, cupping his chin.

Mycroft smiled and watched as Lestrade pulled his hands back, wiping them together to dispose of the crumbs from the cake they had shared. "Was my pleasure, Greg. I always love going out with you. Shall we walk back to my place? We can have tea and maybe watch a movie or something, seeing ours got interrupted last week." 

"That sounds nice," Lestrade smiled, taking the arm Mycroft extended to him. 

They walked down the sidewalk in comfortable silence, Lestrade holding Mycroft's arm and staying close for a while, only breaking off when they got closer to Mycroft's flat. It was pitch black when the flat came into view, Lestrade had his hands shoved into his pockets and his head was slightly bowed, his eyes scanning the ground ahead of them. No one was on the sidewalk, the road uncharacteristically empty of people and cars. 

Lestrade could only smile to himself, knowing his feelings for Mycroft grew with every step he took with this man next to him. He was going to try to make a move again, more subtle this time around of course, not wanting to scare off Mycroft again. His gaze slipped over to Mycroft, his face in soft smile, just barely caressing his features. He was so distracted by Mycroft's glow, he didn't hear the footsteps behind him until he felt the throbbing in the back of his head of a blunt object hitting him into a daze. His vision blurred as Mycroft whirled around, that smile fading quickly into a worried expression. He watched helplessly, trying to regain his train of thought, as Mycroft was hit over the head by a club from behind. The man behind Mycroft was blurred and Lestrade couldn't get his eyes to focus on anything but Mycroft's face, the way it twisted in pain, the way he fell to the ground like Lestrade was himself, the way his eyes closed and he lay still, face pressed to the ground. 

Hands took Lestrade's shoulders, hosting him up roughly. His legs felt like led as the man (there had to have been at least two of them, seeing one was man-handling Mycroft as well), half dragged him into a nearby alleyway. He felt cold metal wrap around his wrists tightly and his back pressed to a pole, his hands being locked around it. In his blurry vision, he watched as Mycroft was dragged off, handcuffed behind his back, and was thrown into the back of a black car. 

"My-Mycof-" Lestrade tried to call after him, struggling against the cuffs. 

The car pulled away in a huff of smoke and the darkness started to creep into Lestrade's vision, soon taking him over, and he blacked out. 


	13. Hadrian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting with an old foe, Mycroft finds himself tied up and away from Greg. Lestrade finds himself waking up, tied to a post in an alleyway and unsure of his location, but remembering the night before, he starts to worry for Mycroft's safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting. I promise, I"m picking this piece back up X) 
> 
> For more JOHNLOCK stories, please, visit my main posting page... here ---> http://black-rose-117.deviantart.com/
> 
> Thanks again   
> ♥ Blake Moriarty
> 
> songs used for this chapter:  
> If you ever come back - the script  
> god in this moment - Gavin Mikhail  
> Believer - 3 doors down  
> Don't Don - Super Junior  
> Blink - Charlieissocoollike  
> Space Dementia - Muse  
> Someone Like you - Boys like Girls  
> Round and Round - 3 doors down  
> Alligator Sky - Owl City  
> Guts - All time low  
> Nirvana - Adam Lambert  
> Aftermath - Adam Lambert  
> Savin' Me - Nickleback 
> 
> Special thanks to hushedjournal6 for making me want to pick this piece back up ♥

Lestrade woke up with his head throbbing in protest against the harsh light of the morning. He moved to sit up a little straighter, but found he couldn't move his hands. He struggled for a moment, the memories from last night flooding back, full of the hazy struggle.

 _Mycroft_.

"Mycroft?" Lestrade asked, desperately looking around. "Mycroft!"

No one answered, and Lestrade started to panic. He was deep in the alleyway, far enough that he couldn't see the sidewalk or anyone walking by. He felt his phone move around in his pocket, but knew there was almost no way to reach it without doing serious damage to himself, in the least. How was he going to get out of this one?

\----------

Mycroft took in a deep breath of relief as the bag was removed from his head. He was tied tightly to a chair and his feet were bound to the legs, the only light was flooding down from a dusty window way up the wall of the room, casting an eerie shadow across the ground. He glanced around, his eyes desperately trying to catch a glint of movement in the dim light.

"Mycroft Holmes. How nice of you to join me," A deep, cynical voice cooed from behind him. He tried to turn his head to see who it was, but only got a violent shock coarse through his body, forcing a bloody scream to erupt from his throat. "Now, now," Said the man in the same voice. "No need to reveal just yet."

"Who… Are you?" Mycroft gasped, his head hung from the shock. 

A wicked laugh boomed behind him. "A _friend_ , Mycroft, dearest," the man sneered into his ear. "A companion. A _shadow_."

"Your... Name," Mycroft growled between grinding teeth. 

"You don't remember me?" The man asked, fake hurt coating his words. "Well, I remember you, now don't I, Mr. I'm-the-British-Government?"

Mycroft screamed again as another shock attacked his body. "Please..." He begged, unable to stop the plea from escaping his lips. "Please..."

"Oh, how cute, you're begging," another laugh sounded and the man paced around in front of Mycroft, giving him a clear view by the dim light when he lifted his head. "I thought you were stronger than that, Mycroft. I really did. I love how I can break you down this far."

Mycroft glared at the man in front of him, the smirk that was pasted on his face a deadly one. "Hadrian. I thought you were dead..." The man that stood in front of him only smirked wider. 

"I live, Mycroft Holmes," Hadrian full out smiled now. "And I'm here to do to you what you tried to do to me. To kill you."

Mycroft's heart dropped dangerously into his stomach, his pulse picking up in pace. "You are aware I am not the one who had you hanged," Mycroft said, trying to keep his voice steady and calm, despite the fear that was bubbling in his stomach. 

"You were the one who sentenced me to my death, and for that, you _will_ pay." 

The room suddenly dropped in temperature, causing Mycroft to get goose bumps going up his arms. He shivered and bit down, clenching his teeth together in an attempt to stay warm. "What are you going to do to me?" Mycroft asked through his teeth, willing the goose bumps to disappear. 

"That's simple," Hadrian said, his voice dark and deep. "I'm going to leave you here to die, to suffer, and slowly starve."

Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed deeply at the words, his mind racing back to Lestrade. "And what did you do to Greg?"

"Greg? Your little friend who was with you last night? He's a little tied up in an alleyway at the moment, but not to worry, we will leave him alone." He started pacing again, his eyes trained on Mycroft as though he may try to escape. "You won't be so lucky."

Hadrian started to walk behind Mycroft, heading for the exit. "My boss will be by later to say a quick last words. Until then, Mycroft Holmes." 

"Your boss? You're not working alone?"

"No." And with that, a door was slammed behind Mycroft and the room fell into silence.

\----------

Lestrade gave up on the struggle, dropping his chin to his chest as he panted. He felt the cold wave of blood on his wrists and knew he had cut himself on the ropes. Cursing under his breath, the pain pulsed on his lower arm, himself squeezing his eyes shut to try to get it to subside.

 _I have to get out of here,_ Lestrade thought, looking up and down the alleyway, trying to think. His head pounded with a light headache from where he was hit the night before, and his mind was a haze. 

“Hello?” he called out, his throat painfully dry. He ignored the discomfort and called again, “Hello? Can anyone here me? Please!”

With a shake of his head, he gave up, guessing he was too far back in the alleyway to be heard. Or no one cared. 

Either way.

He felt the shifting of his phone in his pocket once again as he shifted his hips to get at least a little more comfy. He knew that was his last chance to get out of this, but who would he call?

Shifting slightly and getting his hips as close to the pole as he could, Lestrade started the painful task of getting his hands to maneuver to his pockets. He could feel the ropes cutting into his skin, himself wincing at the pain that coursed through his wrists, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get out of this and save Mycroft. 

Painfully, he worked a few fingers into his pocket, working his phone out slowly. He heard a small clatter as his phone dropped from his pocket onto the concrete and looked down at the device, covered in blood. He winced again and shifted so he could reach it easier. He flipped it open and dialed the first person who crossed his mind. The phone rang twice before it was answered with a tired, “Hello?”

“John?” Lestrade asked, relief flooding him. 

“Greg? What are you calling me for?” John asked, obviously just waking up by the grunt and creek of a bed Lestrade heard in the background. 

Lestrade turned on the speaker phone so he could talk to John easier and placed the phone on the ground next to him, letting his head fall back to the cold post on his back.

“John, I need your help. Please,” he begged, hoping John could forget their past long enough to help the DI.

“Why? What’s the matter?” No general concern filled his voice, just a simple question.

“I’m tied in an alleyway to a post. I can’t get free and someone kidnapped Mycroft. Please, John, you have to help me,” the DI said slowly, bothering his bottom lip as he waited for John to answer.

John was quiet for a long moment and Lestrade feared he had hung up before a demanding voice came through the line saying, “Tell me where you are, I’m coming.”

“I’m not one-hundred percent sure,” Lestrade admitted, looking around. “Somewhere just east of Mycroft’s place. Please, hurry, I don’t know when they’ll be back, or what happened with Mycroft.”

John told Mycroft to just hang on and he’d be there in a second before the line went dead. Lestrade closed his phone and dropped his head back to the post, only able to hope Mycroft was still alive. Only able to hope that he could get to him in time.


	14. Chapter 14

Lestrade sighed with relief when he heard footsteps behind him running his way and turned his head to see John jogging towards him, no Sherlock on his heels. 

“What happened? Are you hurt? You’re bleeding,” John said as he bent down next to Lestrade and started working the knot that bound Lestrade’s hands behind the pole.

“I can’t remember much,” Lestrade admitted, shaking his head and wincing as John worked the rope. “All I remember is getting hit over the head and then watching them drag Mycroft away.”

John got the rope to loosen and slipped Lestrade’s hands free, taking them in his hands and pulling them towards him to look over his wrists. “You can’t remember anything else?” he asked, running his thumb over one of the smaller cuts and watching Lestrade flinch. “We should get you to Barts, come on.”

As John helped Lestrade stand, Lestrade shook his head, sighing. “I remember nothing. Bloody hell, I hope Mycroft’s okay.”

“We’ll find him, don’t worry,” John said, one arm staying around Lestrade’s waist to steady him so he didn’t fall face first. His voice was hard, his doctor side obviously coming out. Lestrade felt weird with John this close, knowing they shouldn’t be anymore. John shouldn’t be touching him. Shouldn’t even be helping him. It felt all wrong. 

“Where’s Sherlock?” Lestrade asked slowly as they got to John’s car, John helping the DI into the passenger’s seat. 

“Back at the flat,” John stated, going around to get in the driver’s seat and folding himself in. “He had no desire to come.”

“And nor did you, am I correct?” Lestrade asked, the guilt he felt pinging in his heart. 

“Then why am I here?” 

“The doctor in you, I’m guessing?” John didn’t answer right away, so Lestrade continued. “John, you know you’re not here for me. I know you’re not here for me. You’re only here because the doctor in you couldn’t let me stay hurt when you knew you could help me. It’s instinct for you.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” John said, making Lestrade’s heart slip quickly from his throat to his stomach, leaving him dizzy. “Sherlock hates you and I- I don’t know how I feel right now. I’m sorry about what happened, but we never should have started anything. I know I hurt-“

 

“You didn’t hurt me, John,” Lestrade cut in just then, shaking his head. “You killed me; or, at least, that’s what I thought at first. Now I see you broke me just so I could be healed, stronger, by Mycroft. But that doesn’t matter, not if we can’t find him before- before-“

“We’re going to find him,” John cut off, hearing the pain in Lestrade’s voice. “Sherlock’ll help, whether he wants to or not. I’ll make sure of that.”

Lestrade hummed and looked out the window, watching the town pass by. He hoped he could fix things between all of them, but right now, he just wanted to get Mycroft back. 

\----------

Mycroft was snapped from a very shallow sleep by the sound of a door opening behind him. He felt the electricity coarse through his body and he cried out in pain, arching his back from the chair and squeezing his eyes shut. He dropped his head to his chest once the shock stopped and panted heavily, trying to get his body back under his control. 

 

“That never will get old, Mr. Holmes,” a cold, unnerving voice said from the doorway. Mycroft recognized it almost at once, but couldn’t put a name to it. Quiet footsteps sounded as a man walked around him and into his view, Mycroft glaring up into the cold, steely blue eyes. 

“James Collins,” he growled, his eyes narrowing at the younger man. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have some big drug trade to make in the Americas?”

James laughed a deep, chilling laugh – Mycroft tensed at once at the sound. “Oh, Mr. Holmes! It’s been quite some time now, hasn’t it?” he snickered, walking right up to Mycroft and pacing around the chair. “I have to say, I was quite disappointed when I found you had given up chasing me. You were one of my better opponents. Could keep up, you know?”

“I had no time to deal with a man who cowardly ran to the Americas. I am a busy man, Mr. Collins,” Mycroft said coldly, forcing himself to keep eye contact with the man. 

“That’s funny, you don’t look all that busy,” James said, the smile that was on his face vanishing almost as quickly as it had come. “In fact, you look a little… relaxed? No, that’s not it…”

“I was quite busy before you kidnapped me,” Mycroft snapped, his patience quickly running thin. 

“Busy?!” James laughed. “You were on a _date_! I hardly call having a social life ‘busy’.”

“I should have been at my office, I understand this,” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. “But I hardly believe who I mess around with is your business.”

“Oh? He’s not your boyfriend?” James asked seriously, cocking his head to the side and shaking it slightly. 

“No. Gregory is not my boyfriend.”

“Shame, he was a cute one, too,” James shrugged, pacing back till he was standing in front of Mycroft once again. “But oh well, right? Not that it was my business. Now, shall we continue on here?” 

Mycroft watched as the man produced a roll of duct tape from his back pocket and bent down to re-enforce the bonds that were already holding Mycroft down to the chair. “What are you going to do to me?” Mycroft asked, his voice failing the calmness he was trying to keep. 

“What am I- I’m going to torture you, Mr. Holmes,” James said, throwing the tape somewhere to the other side of the room. He got down in Mycroft’s face and glared at the man, a small smirk working its way back across his lips. “I’m going to use you and hurt you till all you can do is scream my name.”

“And- and Hadrian?” Mycroft asked slowly, fear finally catching up to him. His heart was starting to beat a little faster, sweat peaking on his forehead. 

“Hadrian? Why, he’ll be helping me, of course. Can’t go without giving you a bit of a taste of what you put him through,” James said as a quieter laugh came from the direction of the door. “Speaking of the devil.”

“Yes, my apologizes,” Hadrian said, stepping up to James and smiling evilly. “I’m afraid I got caught up in… well, you know.”

“Yes, of course. What do you want to start with, since you’re here,” James said, the two men turning to face Mycroft, but not addressing him. 

“I was thinking a little bit of… _trios sexe maniére_?” Hadrian said, excitement seeping into his voice as he smoothly spoke the French phrase. “ _J'ai été en attente pour vous aussi longtemps_ , James.” Hadrian stepped up to James and ran a long, bony finger along the man’s jaw line, James shivering at the touch. 

“ _Alors moi, tu auras,_ ’’ James whispered back before turning to Mycroft. “Grab him. Meet me in the _prepared_ room.”

With that, James left the room, leaving Hadrian with Mycroft. Hadrian pressed a button on the remote he held and a strong current rushed through Mycroft’s body. He screamed as his vision blacked out, and he passed out just as Hadrian started towards him.


	15. In the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Dark - DEV (Cover by Sam Tsui on Youtube)

“What is _he_ doing here?” Sherlock growled as John closed the door behind them and helped Lestrade over to the couch, helping him sit down and going off to fetch him a glass of water. 

“Mycroft is missing,” John said, pausing as he passed Sherlock and giving him an icy glare. “Lestrade is here to help find him. And so are you.”

“Mycroft isn’t _missing_ ,” Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “He’s probably just on one of his little business trips. Just give him a few days and he’ll be-“

“I watched him get dragged away, Sherlock!” Lestrade barked, turning all attention to him as he stood up and moved over to hover over Sherlock. John took a cautious step towards Sherlock, looking ready to step between the two men if things go bad. “We were attacked on the way back to his place just last night! If you really want to challenge that than fine! I don’t need your help to find him; but he _is_ your brother. Even if you don’t like me, why can’t you just put that aside for him?! Are you really that selfish and self-centered?! I knew you were many things, Sherlock, but I never knew you were this bad.”

The flat was silent for a long time as Lestrade searched Sherlock’s eyes. Finding nothing but boredom, he huffed, shook his head, and stormed towards the door. He threw it open and slammed it behind him. New found strength coursed through his veins, mixing in with anger and causing his head to spin. He had to find Mycroft, and he didn’t need that arrogant, selfish bastard to do it.

\----------

Mycroft woke up in a different room, the lights dim and shadows dancing eerily on the ceiling above him. He was laying on his back on a uncomfortable mattress, his legs spread and tied to the corners of the bed, his hands handcuffed through the headboard above his head. He craned his neck as much as he could to look around the room. A downward staircase stood in the far corner and a light was directly over him, covered in dust and obviously hadn’t been used in possibly months. He let his head fall back on the mattress and sighed heavily. What was going to happen to him? He knew these men hated him, he knew they wanted him dead. What were they going to do, though? 

Just then, the sound of a door slamming shut sounded down the stairs and heavy, booted footsteps started up the wooden stairs. Hadrian emerged from the staircase, a small cardboard box in his hands with the lid closed. He smirked as he saw Mycroft up. 

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” he smirked, placing the box on a table he pulled over from the corner of the room and next to the bed. “I’ll tell James and then we can get started.”

“What are you planning to do to me?” Mycroft asked, trying to get his voice to be stronger than it came out. It was more of a whimper than anything. 

Hadrian just smirked, shrugged one shoulder, and pounded down the stairs, humming a quiet, creepy sounding song to himself. A door opened and closed at the foot of the stairs again and Mycroft was alone once more.

\----------

Lestrade stormed down the sidewalk, hands shoved deep into his pockets and his eyes cast down to the ground. He didn’t need Sherlock to find Mycroft. He didn’t need anyone. He was a Detective Inspector; he didn’t get there with armature tracking skills. He had what it took to find Mycroft, knew what to do. 

He ran up the stairs to his flat, taking them two at a time. Mycroft had to be okay, he had to be alive, and Lestrade was going to find him. 

He threw his door open and tossed his jacket in the direction of the coat rack, picking up his laptop on his way to the kitchen. He started a kettle of tea and sat down at the counter, opening his laptop and entering into the police database. First thing was first; he had to figure out who these men were, and he could easily do that with a little help of Mycroft’s CCTV cameras.


	16. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: scenes of rape and torture. If this isn't your thing, you might want to just skim through. Otherwise enjoy ^^;

The room was dark and cold and a slow wind blew through the entire room. Mycroft was left laying on the table, spread out in a very open invitation-like way. His muscles flexed as he tried to adjusted his arms, tied above his head to the headboard. It felt like it had been longer than twenty-four hours since Hadrian had come up and placed that small cardboard box down on the table next to him, but it couldn't have been. Mycroft had hardly slept at all, he didn't even feel remotely tired. It couldn't have been twenty-four hours. Not yet.

The door behind Mycroft opened at the foot of the stairs and footsteps - lighter than before - padded up the stairs. Mycroft adjusted his wrists and craned his neck to see who it was - James or Hadrian. By the time he could look over his shoulder, James was standing next to the bed with only his tight, black pants on. His upper body was very toned - muscular, tan, and complete with a complete set of abs that would make a model blush. James only smiled.

The door shut below and more footsteps were heard, heavy and bare. So Hadrian would be joining them? For what, Mycroft didn't know. But he just knew it couldn't be good.

"So," James started, his voice smooth as he folded his arms behind his back and took one of his wrists in his hand. His eyes scanned Mycroft lazily, the way he was all spread out and how each muscle twitched as his eyes fell on them. Like they knew they were getting attention. "This is how it ends, huh?"

"Ends?" Mycroft asked, holding back the gulp as his mouth went completely dry. His heart spiked then plummeted into his stomach, burning in the acid and bubbling up to burn his throat. "What do you mean... ends?"

James chuckled quietly, moving around to the small box on the table. "In this box," he started, ignoring Mycroft's questions all together, "I have a very special item of my choosing, as does Hadrian. Both meant to torture you _slowly_. You see, my dear Mycroft, we are going to kill you; but not before we have a little fun with you."

Mycroft swallowed loudly, his mouth feeling more and more like the desert as he listened to James. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye as Hadrian opened the box, making Mycroft turn his head to watch the other man. The bed dipped as James climbed on and Mycroft suddenly realized what was happening, his heart dropping so quickly into his stomach that he swore he was going to be sick. He felt the sweat bead along his forehead as his eyes grew wide, turning to James as he crawled up closer to Mycroft's face, looking like a wild animal ready for the kill. 

"No," Mycroft whispered, his voice failing him and getting caught somewhere in his chest. "Y-you can't..."

James snickered and Mycroft heard Hadrian do the same, the other man taking something from the box and hiding it quickly in his pocket. "I'm ready, boss," Hadrian smiled, getting on his knees on the bed next to Mycroft's hip. He let his eyes scan Mycroft slowly before reaching his face. As their eyes met, Hadrian's smile turned predator-like and Mycroft felt like his thoughts were being x-rayed as he lay there, help-less and unable to move. He wasn't used to that feeling - it was normally himself giving others that feeling, never the other way around. 

"You may start when ready," James smiled at Hadrian, sitting back on his own knees to watch the other man. 

Hadrian nodded at James and slowly ran a hand up Mycroft's leg, getting to the button of his trousers. He undid the button with one hand and worked the zipper down, using both hands to force Mycroft's trousers down as far as they would go with his legs spread. He worked Mycroft's pants down next and chuckled darkly as Mycroft started to panic and struggle against his binds. 

"Don't worry so much," James soothed Mycroft, though Mycroft could tell he didn't mean it at all. "It's not like you're a _virgin_ or anything, right?" 

Mycroft flinched. He was, in fact. He's never had full on sex before, let alone something inside him. In uni, he always had someone to mess around with, but he never wanted to actually be committed to someone. They were all simply distractions. The worst he's done is sleep with someone after touching through their clothes. He's never been stripped for someone else before, and now that he was, he wasn't sure what to expect, especially not by these guys. 

"You are?" Hadrian asked, smiling even wider. "Did you see the flinch, James? The bastard's a fucking virgin! Oh! Are we going to change that quickly!"

James laughed as Hadrian reached into his pocket and pulled what looked to be a small silver ring out. He held it up for Mycroft to see as he turned it in his fingers.

"W-what's that?" Mycroft asked, only able to imagine the number of possibilities of where they could go. 

Hadrian snickered and ran his hand up the inside of Mycroft's leg, stopping just as the side of his hand touched Mycroft's member. "Let me show you," he growled, slipping his hand under Mycroft's member and wrapping his fingers around it, lifting it in his cupped hand. He held the ring in his other hand and placed it to the head of Mycroft's member, pushing it slowly on until it reached the base. 

It was tight and painful as Hadrian slipped it on, making Mycroft wince and try to pull away. He knew it was no use and feared what was going to happen as the night went on. If it was this tight now, how tight would it get when he got harder? When Hadrian and James forced him closer to the edge? Would he be able to get it off? Would he be able to let go? His stomach flipped at the thought and all he could think was that he couldn't let himself get hard. Couldn't let the ring get any tighter. 

"Want to pull out your toy now, or later, James?" Hadrian asked, smiling up at his boss and keeping Mycroft's member in his hands, slowly wrapping his fingers around it. 

"Later," James answered, brushing a lock of hair out of Mycroft's eyes. "I think we want to use him for something else, first. Am I wrong?"

"I don't know about you, but I have a few plans," Hadrian smiled. He crawled up Mycroft's body, resting on his knees above Mycroft's stomach and leaning over on his hands. He caught James's lips in a rough kiss, shoving his tongue down the man's throat as he forced two fingers into Mycroft's mouth. "Suck," he growled, pulling away for only enough time to say that word before crushing his mouth back against James'. 

Mycroft struggled to pull away at first, realizing he couldn't and finally just sucking on the fingers. After a few minutes, the two men still making out over Mycroft, when Hadrian relaxed his shoulders Mycroft bit down as hard as he could on Hadrian's fingers. Hadrian yelped in pain and pulled away from both James and Mycroft, cradling his bleeding fingers. James turned towards Mycroft angrily, getting over his body as Hadrian jumped up to go take care of the wound. Mycroft had blood dripping down his chin and the horrible taste had filled his mouth. He wanted horribly to just spit out the taste, but he didn't want to give James the satisfaction. So, instead, he took a deep breath and swallowed the blood. 

James growled low in his throat and reached over the side of the bed, reaching under the unit and pulling out a small pocket knife. "You think that was funny, didn't you?" he hissed, flipping the pocket knife open and pressing it to Mycroft's throat. Mycroft heard footsteps behind him and guessed that Hadrian was back. There must be a bathroom in the corner over behind him that he couldn't see. 

"Don't kill him," Hadrian said, his voice dark as he stepped back into Mycroft's vision. "Not yet."

"I wasn't going to," James said, raising the knife and pressing the tip down just below Mycroft's eye, right where the bridge of his nose met his cheek. He drew a long, curved line down Mycroft's face, around his mouth, and to his chin, like a path of a tear. "But he's going to suffer a little more than he was going to tonight."

Mycroft screamed out in pain once the knife was away from his face. James made three more quick cuts down Mycroft's chest, all three straight lines like tally marks. Mycroft screamed out until James placed the bloody knife on the side table, where he was left panting and his eyes watering. Each breath he took hurt his chest as the wounds opened and closed and he whimpered with each pull. He wasn't used to any of this, wasn't sure how to swallow the pain like Sherlock always had - he wasn't even sure at this point that he was going to make it out of there alive. Was anyone even looking for him? Greg was the only one that knew he was missing and Mycroft didn't even know if Greg was still alive. What if Greg was dead..?

His thoughts stopped as he felt a hand wrap back around his member, his stomach flipping as he remembered the ring around his cock. James pumped slowly and watched Hadrian as he moved back over to the bed - his two fingers wrapped in a bandage. Hadrian sat down behind James on Mycroft's thighs, placing his hands on James' hips and giving them a squeeze. He leaned over and rested his chin on James' shoulder. 

"I've been waiting for a long time to do this," he growled into James' ear, titling his head and working the skin just under James' jaw. He sucked on the spot until it was raised and a bright red, glowing proudly on James' ghost-white skin. "I've wanted you, James, for so long."

"I have wanted you too, Hadrian," James hissed, his hand pausing in mid-stroke up Mycroft's cock as he rolled his head back on his shoulders to give Hadrian more room to work. He moaned quietly and chuckled darkly. "Should have started this sooner."

"I agree - we should have," Hadrian whispered. He smiled darkly down at Mycroft as he pulled away from James' neck. "You know, James; I think it'd be so hot if we could make out and fuck Mycroft at the same time. Besides, we're being a bit rude to our _guest_. Not letting him enjoy the activities, if you get what I mean, James?"

"I think I do."

James pulled away from Hadrian's grip and doubled over, pressing his lips roughly to Mycroft's. Mycroft moaned out in protest and tried to pull away, but James placed a firm hand on the side of Mycroft's cheek and tangled his fingers in Mycroft's hair, effectively holding Mycroft in place. Hadrian hummed behind James and Mycroft felt a finger circling his entrance. He moaned loudly into James' lips as Hadrian pushed three, dry fingers all the way to his third knuckle. He opened his mouth to scream out, but James effectively swallowed the scream when he crushed his lips harder to Mycroft's. Mycroft felt his crotch twitch and he cursed quietly to himself. He couldn't get hard, not from this - not from the fingers inside him. 

James forced Mycroft's lips open and shoved his tongue inside, tilting his head to the side to get in deeper. He felt James lift his hips up from his stomach and pried his eyes open to only to find Hadrian slipping James' trousers and pants off his thin hips. 

"God," Hadrian breathed, Mycroft rolling his eyes as he watched the man admire James' ass in front of him. "Your ass is so... _perfect_. May I...?" He pressed a single finger between James' cheeks and against the hole, moving it back and forth across the puckered entrance. 

"D-dry?" James panted, breaking the kiss with Mycroft to look back at Hadrian. 

"Dry and _hard_ ," Hadrian growled, pushing in to the first knuckle. "Come on, I've waited for so long!"

"O-oh god... okay! Okay! Please!" James moaned, dropping his head to Mycroft's shoulder. "Please..."

"That's what I like to hear," Hadrian purred before pushing two dry fingers into James, the man moaning loudly into Mycroft's neck. 

Hadrian pumped a few times into both Mycroft and James, the two men moaning and screaming loudly. Mycroft could feel his cock getting harder, the ring getting tighter and he tried to shift his hips, to somehow ease the tension around the base. Damn body needs. Why did he have to get hard, it was so illogical. Why couldn't he control that part of him as well as he did the rest of his body? 

As Hadrian pumped, Mycroft could feel himself getting harder and harder; the ring getting tighter and tighter. Mycroft moaned out loudly, whimpering at the end and trying to move his hips. Something, he didn't know what part of him, told him if he just moved his hips, the ring would pop right off and the pain would go away. If he could just shift his hips, the tension would go away. 

"Oh, James, love, look," Hadrian smiled with an evil gleam in his eye, looking down at Mycroft's cock. "Look how _tight_ that ring is getting. Looks painful, doesn't it? God..."

"Really does," James whispered, his eyes darting over Mycroft's cock before going up to Hadrian's eyes. "I don't think we should fuck him just yet."

"Why not?" Hadrian asked, leaning over and pecking James on the lips. "I thought you wanted to go hard."

"I do. But, instead, I think we should get him hard and just leave him," James breathed, smiling into the kiss with an evil smirk. "Imagine, Hadrian. Mycroft here twitching and begging for release, unable to do so with the ring around his cock and his hands tied. His erection throbbing and a bright red. The ring so much tighter than it is now, squeezing the base of his cock so he's moaning and screaming in pain. Can't you see it?"

"That would be hot," Hadrian smirked, crushing his lips into James'. "That's why you're the boss. Maybe once we get him all twitching and hard, you can take me for a little ride, if you know what I mean."

"I say that's a deal," James smiled, pushing back into Hadrian's fingers. "Let's get started."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this continues on the detailed violence from chapter 16. If this is not your sort of thing, please, feel free to skim or skip over completely. Thank you.

Hadrian pulled his fingers out of Mycroft's entrance and placed his hand to James' hip, forcing the man to sit more on Mycroft as well as his fingers, angling Hadrian better to push up farther into James. James cried out as he was filled with Hadrian's finger, leaning over Mycroft and resting his forehead on Mycroft's sweaty shoulder, panting heavily.

 

Mycroft snarled at James and rolled his eyes. His cock was painfully throbbing and he desperately wanted that ring off. Hadrian placed his free hand on James' shoulder, pushing him down till his chest was against Mycroft's. He pushed in another finger and James bucked forward, one of his legs brushing up against Mycroft's erection, making him moan out. 

 

"Emmm, listen to him, love," Hadrian hummed, letting one of his hands go down and brush Mycroft's erection. "What do you think? He almost there yet?"

 

"I-I'd say just-just a little bit mor-more teas-sing," James stuttered, his eyes completely black with his dilated pupils. "God, touch him. Make him cry out!"

 

Hadrian nodded and wrapped his hand roughly around Mycroft's throbbing cock, jerking upwards roughly and swiftly, causing Mycroft to buck up into James. He whimpered in pain, tears pricking the back of his eyes. The ring was too tight, cutting off circulation for any sort of flow; blood or come. He desperately needed to just come but he couldn't get anything to stimulate it enough to get past the ring. 

 

"God... god damn it..." Mycroft growled, trying to get some sort of friction going.

 

"I think he's hard enough," Hadrian purred, fingers wrapped lightly around Mycroft’s erection. “What do you say we actually get started, James? Do you think you’re ready?”

 

“Emmm, yes,” James moaned, bucking back slightly as Hadrian pulled his fingers out slowly, a small pop sounding as he extracted his fingers fully from the entrance. James sat up and took Hadrian by the chin, controlling his lips fully with his own as shifting slightly down the bed in order to be closer to the other man. “I want you… to fuck me… so hard,” James growled between each kiss pressed roughly to Hadrian’s lips. “I need your cock up my ass. Now.”

 

“And what of our guest? It would be rude to leave him out of all the fun,” Hadrian said, the smirk obvious in his tone. “It looks like he wants to join in.”

 

Mycroft snarled as Hadrian opened one eye to peer at Mycroft over James’ shoulder. “Am I wrong, Mycroft?”

 

“I want nothing to do with any of this,” Mycroft said as he pulled at the bindings, as though to make a point. 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” James dismissed, breaking apart from Hadrian’s lips to look back at Mycroft. “You’ll enjoy yourself. Just let us do all the work.”

 

Mycroft struggled against the wrist restraints as James crawled back up the bed and positioned himself over the British Government. He took one finger and stroked it slowly over Mycroft’s cheek, Mycroft flinching away from the touch. 

 

“I think I have a pretty good idea on what I want to have done to our little guest here,” James smirked over his shoulder. Hadrian perked up one eyebrow. 

 

“Oh? Do share.”

 

“Let’s silence him. After that, we can start having our own ways with whomever we want. How does that sound to you, darling?”

Hadrian reached for the piece of cloth that sat on the side table and held it between his two hands. “Fantastic.”


End file.
